Things Behind the Sun 2024

Owen, a young reporter for a Los Angeles–based music magazine, returns to his Florida hometown with a professional assignment that quickly becomes a deeply personal reckoning. He travels back to interview Sherry, a rising local rock singer whose charisma and a provocative hit have helped her band gain traction far beyond their college radio roots. The song, a stark account of being raped as a girl, has connected with listeners in a way that shocks and galvanizes, turning Sherry into a focal point for conversation about trauma, memory, and accountability.

The pull of the past is strong. Owen’s return is not only about chasing a story; he and Sherry were close friends during childhood, and the path that brought them to this moment feels haunted by what was left unsaid. As the town begins to buzz with Sherry’s growing fame, Owen discovers a harder truth: he knows the identity of the men who brutalized Sherry, and the ringleader is his own brother, Dan. The revelation casts a long shadow over the present, forcing Owen to navigate a conflict between loyalty, family, and a sense of justice that cannot be ignored.

The film unfolds through careful, interwoven flashbacks. We see Owen’s memories of those years—a time when the danger of Dan and his friends loomed close to Owen’s own home and life. The narration gradually reveals how Owen’s pattern of tuning out violence—turning up the volume on nearby chaos to block out what he didn’t want to hear—was a defense that ultimately made him complicit in the hurt that would follow. The contrast between the music that once drowned out screams and the stark realities that emerge later creates a tense, morally complex portrait of guilt and memory.

A painful day comes into focus. Sherry visits Owen at his house, bringing a mixtape that would become a symbol and a catalyst. In a brutal turn of events, Owen is dragged from his room and pulled into Sherry’s gang-rape, a moment he later confesses he didn’t fully grasp was her until it was over. The admission is harrowing: he tells Sherry that he didn’t know it was her at the moment, a lie that will challenge the foundations of their renewed trust.

The act of disclosure becomes a turning point. After the interview assignment shifts, Owen makes a decisive choice. He informs his brother Dan, and, more crucially, he shares the details of Sherry’s assault with Dan’s parole officer and with his own editor. He has also located several of the other victims—twelve in total—in the hope that they will testify against Dan before the parole board. The plan is dangerous, but Owen makes it clear that his aim is to prevent Dan from ever leaving prison. When Dan asks why Owen is acting against him, the answer comes with brutal honesty: Owen says he did it because he loved Sherry, a confession that adds another layer to the film’s investigation of love, loyalty, and the consequences of silence.

Across the story, the film threads themes of accountability, forgiveness, and the long shadows cast by violence. The narrative foregrounds the difficult choices people make when past sins collide with present truths, and it asks how a person can reconcile the instinct to protect a friend with the imperative to expose wrongdoing. Through Owen’s determined pursuit of justice for Sherry—and for the other victims—the film invites viewers to consider how acknowledgement and testimony can alter futures, even when they come at a personal cost. The emotional weight is balanced by a measured, restrained storytelling that avoids sensationalism while remaining unflinching about the damage caused by predatory violence and the heavy price of truth-telling.

In the end, the drama does not offer easy redemption or simple answers. It presents a portrait of a man who chooses a path that tests his loyalties and confronts him with the reality that love, once tested, can drive one toward difficult, even painful, acts of honesty. The film leaves audiences with a clear sense that memory can trap you, but truth—spoken, documented, and shared—can also become a route to accountability and, perhaps, a measure of healing for those who survived the harm.