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Pascal goes about it sincerely, but the mini-tale is so grim that it only accomplishes two things: getting Pascal on the poster, and totally scrambling the movie’s tone.

I think of all this with my thoughts punctuated by the grim onslaught of transphobic — and broadly queerphobic — legislation promised to be delivered from Congress and the cultural vitriol espoused by our nation’s sitting president.

That time spent getting the headboard, for example, was frankly spent in a sort of grim fugue state, wordlessly drifting from place to place in exhausted resignation.

“I will say I miss Maine every single day. I mean, especially being in Tampa,“ says Pillsbury, as he looks out the window, describing a grim, rainy day in Florida.

It’s a tender narrative that feels particularly apt during these grim days.