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7/10
Senior Film Conservator
A definitive 7/10 rating for a film that redefined the boundaries of cult cinema. The Cantor's Son remains a cornerstone of transgressive art.
Look, if you’re into Yiddish cinema or just want to see what a star was like before the industry chewed them up, The Cantor's Son is a weirdly essential watch. It’s not for the casual Netflix browser. If you demand modern pacing and subtle acting, stay away. This thing moves like a tired mule, but it’s got a heartbeat.
Moishe Oysher is the whole show here. He’s got this voice that could probably shatter the windows of the theater if he really pushed it. It’s an interesting flip on the usual immigrant story you see in things like The Jazz Singer, mostly because it feels less like a polished Hollywood product and more like someone filmed a play happening in a room next door.
The transition from the dusty shtetl to New York is handled with the grace of a sledgehammer. One minute we’re in Poland, the next we’re hitting the pavement in the Lower East Side. It doesn't matter much though. The sets have that charming, fake-looking wood-and-paint quality that makes you wonder if someone is going to trip over a prop in the background.
There’s a moment midway through where the plot basically stops so Oysher can just sing. It goes on for a long time. It feels like the director just forgot to say cut. In a modern movie, that would be a nightmare. Here, it’s actually kind of nice. It feels honest, like they knew their lead guy was the only reason people bought a ticket.
The return to the Old Country feels a bit rushed, like the film suddenly realized it had a runtime to worry about. The emotional beats don't really land so much as they just arrive, uninvited. But you don't watch this for the tight script. You watch it to hear a guy sing his heart out until his face turns bright red.
It’s not a masterpiece, and it’s certainly not high art. It’s just... a movie. A dusty, musical, very specific time capsule. Sometimes that’s enough. 🎶