Marco Bacaloni

Rust (2024) is something else entirely. Set against a dusty, sun-bleached backdrop, the film follows Harland Rust, a washed-up outlaw who’s got more baggage than a Greyhound bus. He gets word that his estranged teenage grandson, Lucas, finds himself tangled in a mess way over his head—facing a murder charge and just about to be strung up by the law. Instead of letting the kid fry, Rust storms back into action for one last desperate ride. Man, the air in this movie is thick with regret and old wounds. Rust’s not exactly father of the year material, but he’s got this stubborn sense of loyalty, even if it’s all tangled up with guilt and pride. There’s gun smoke, horses, and a lot of those long, tense silences where you can almost hear the cicadas buzzing. The pair hit the trail, dodging bounty hunters, lawmen, and a past that just refuses to stay buried. Along the way, Rust tries to teach Lucas the dirty rules of survival, but honestly, he’s still figuring it out himself. It’s gritty, raw, and doesn’t sugarcoat the rough edges. There’s this sense that the old West isn’t dead—it just smells like sweat, gun oil, and broken dreams. The story chews on themes like redemption and family, but never gets preachy. By the end, you’re left wondering if anyone really makes it out clean, or if life just keeps throwing mud no matter how fast you ride.