By Douglas Wood
Rated R
Currently streaming on Amazon Prime, Apple TV+, AMC+ and YouTube
Sword of Trust, a charming indie comedy directed by Lynne Shelton and written by Shelton and Mike O’Brien, posits what might happen if an ordinary citizen had in their possession something that wacky conspiracy theorists believe to be irrefutable proof that the North actually surrendered to the Southern Confederacy. Given the jaw-dropping events of our country’s current administration, there are harder things to believe.
This highly original premise finds Mary (Michaela Watkins) and her spouse, Cynthia (Jillian Bell), in Birmingham, Alabama, having traveled there to collect an unspecified inheritance from Cynthia’s recently deceased grandfather. They’re disappointed to discover they won’t be handed a deed to a house or a nice chunk of change, but rather a Union sword belonging to Cynthia’s great-great-great-great grandpappy, a field marshal in the Confederate army, surrendered to him by a Union general. The sword comes with a semi-coherent letter of its history written by the addled grandfather, explaining how it’s definitive proof that the South actually won the Civil War.
Hoping it might be worth something, the women take the sword to Delta Pawn, a local pawnshop owned by a curmudgeon named Mel, played by curmudgeonly Marc Maron, the cynical stand-up comic and host of the popular podcast, WTF with Marc Maron. The role of Mel isn’t much of a stretch for schlumpy, droopy-mustached Maron, but his low-key delivery and underlying sweetness make for a pitch-perfect performance that forms the heart and soul of the film.
Mel isn’t much interested in the sword until his slacker helper, Nathaniel, discovers a website run by nutjob conspiracy theorists who are more than eager to pay good money to acquire the artifact, or “prover item” as they call it. (“What is this?” asks Mel, “Antiques Roadshow for racists?”)
Played by a hilariously deadpan Jon Bass, who makes mouth-breathing an art, Nathaniel is something of a conspiracy theorist and flat-Earther himself. He convinces Mel to engage in a deal with the racists and before you know it, Mel, Cynthia, Mary and Nathaniel find themselves in the rear of an old mail truck driven by a redneck lackey for “the boss,” on their way to Tennessee to sell the sword for $40,000. This gives us an opportunity to hear the foursome share their backstories in an extended sequence that nicely fleshes out their characters.
And it’s the characters, not the goofy plot, that make Sword of Trust work. Maron relates his backstory in a lengthy monologue in which he shares how Mel came to own the sad pawnshop and how it is that he doesn’t have much to show for his life. Rather than stop the film cold, the narrative imbues it with a substantive soul, and it’s satisfying to see these oddball characters bond despite their disparate pasts and varying dispositions. They all want the same thing and as they’ll come to realize, it isn’t money for the sword.
Just as Shelton did in her previous low-budget film, My Sister’s Sister (reviewed here on May 19, 2025), she encourages her cast to improvise much of the dialogue, which accounts for the crack timing and naturalistic acting that put more commercial films to shame. She has a poignant cameo of her own in an early scene as Mel’s ex-lover, a drug addict who tries to solicit money and compassion from him despite their troubled history. (In real life, Shelton was Maron’s girlfriend before passing away unexpectedly at the early age of fifty-four.)
Shelton filmed Sword of Trust in just twelve days, yet the actors interact with the familiarity and ease of an established theatrical repertory company. Watkins (who seems to be in everything these days, including HBO’s Hacks) is particularly funny as the shrewd Mary, whether she’s desperately trying to weave a convincing history of the sword by making up ridiculous names of battles and generals, or dancing like a puppet at gunpoint while miming baking a pie (it’s as absurd as it sounds.) Bell has a few great comedic moments of her own as when the earnest Cynthia functions as a deus ex machina, brandishing a gun against the bad guy and shouting, “You’re gonna die, motherf**ker!” only to apologize moments later with, “I feel awful. I didn’t mean that. I don’t usually use those words.”
There’s always a hesitation in recommending a small, offbeat, low-budget film such as Sword of Trust. It isn’t particularly cinematic and doesn’t have much action until the climax. The cinematography captures the spare southern landscape but isn’t particularly notable; neither is the music (also by Maron), which consists mainly of solo guitar riffs. Even the performances are scaled down with few histrionics but lots of genuine moments of connection in between some laugh-out-loud throwaway line readings. But for those looking for a smart, satirical comedy that comments on our search for what’s true, the film is consistently funny, and just as important, emotionally satisfying. In a touching ending that sneaks up on you, Mel finds something to believe in and also learns that “truthiness” has consequences.