In Carolina, Caroline, the latest feature by Adam Rehmeier, starring Kyle Gallner and Samara Weaving, there is a theme that comes up a couple of times: a comparison between people and birds who could fly away but choose to remain in the same spot.
In Cotton Fever, Daniel Blake Schwartz’s debut feature, ironically also starring Gallner, we can see such birds, too, and humans are afflicted by a similar inability to break out of a vicious circle of bad choices. In this case, though, it is clear from the beginning what makes them stuck in this circle.
Addiction is at the center of the interconnected lives of the film’s multiple characters, who are either struggling with it themselves or trying to support -- often resorting to watching helplessly instead -- the ones who are. Following up on Schwartz’s 2022 eponymous short, Cotton Fever centers around James (played by Gallner in this version), a small-time dealer and addict who has recently relapsed, and his pregnant girlfriend, Dina (Sosie Bacon), whose sobriety is also in peril. The world of the couple expands as James’ and Dina’s lives intersect, however briefly, with two teenagers in love, Sam (Chabely Ponce) and Manny (Ari Mora), and Akil (Ronald Emile), who is facing an uphill battle, trying to save his addict brother.
The fact that both the short and the new feature version are inspired by the director’s own experiences gives Cotton Fever a very particular sensibility, as well as aesthetics. Everything here feels lived-in, raw, and simply realistic: from the fragmented, mosaic narrative that doesn’t focus on just one big plot point to Tom Acton Fitzgerald’s cinematography. The camera here seems to be acutely feeling and mimicking the characters’ inner turmoil, their restlessness, and their need to move, no matter what.
The film has a distinctive neorealistic feel, emphasized by both quiet and intense performances in it, namely by Gallner and Bacon (who previously played a couple with a complicated past in Smile), but also by Ponce and Mora, as well as by some non-professionals appearing on screen who bring an increased sense of realness in their scenes. What constitutes the most difference between Cotton Fever and many drug addiction dramas you might have seen in your life is the perspective of its authors that comes from within, offsetting the potential distance between them and their deeply flawed characters. And in turn, between them and us, the viewers.
There has always been a minefield of dilemmas surrounding films about addiction, specifically questions about the ethics of romanticizing and glamorizing the lifestyle, ironically often coupled with preaching semantics. We’ve all seen films like this, which often turn the characters in them into walking concepts; one of the biggest TV shows of recent times (wink, wink) just concluded its main heroine’s story in a very similar manner. That’s not the case with Cotton Fever, with its authors seeing and showing people, not abstract figures or vehicles for their big ideas.
Even the journey that the main characters take here is telling. Instead of a downward spiral, a descent into chaos, addiction is shown as more or less of a pattern in Schwartz’s film. Once someone is in, everyday life is a constant series of making choices, of endless opportunities to make bad ones, seemingly sabotaging others, but mostly failing oneself in the process.
It’s not all doom and gloom here; just like in real life, there are moments of levity and pure absurdity in Cotton Fever, just as there is a feeling of genuine wonder at what a difference a simple human connection might just make.
The film enjoys its world premiere at the 2026 Tribeca Festival. It screens again on June 13 and June 14. Visit the film's page at the official festival site for more information.