I don't hate to see 'That Evening Sun' at all

“That Evening Sun” thrives on the unexpected.

Anton Chekhov, who knew something about drama, famously wrote that if we see a gun early in a play, it has to be used later. We see a gun several times early in “That Evening Sun” -- it’s lovingly cleaned and loaded -- and although it does indeed show up later it is not used remotely in the way we think it will be used.

More to the point, the two central characters establish their personalities early but then evolve in ways that surprise and even shock us.

Hal Holbrook justly deserves all the rave reviews he has been receiving for his performance as Abner Meechum, an 80-year-old who tires of life in a stultifying nursing home and decides to go back to his old farm. But when he gets there, he learns it is being rented -- and not just rented, but rented to the drunken no-account redneck Lonzo Choat, played by Ray McKinnon. The two don’t like each other to begin with, and when Meechum takes up squatter’s residence in his own sharecropper’s cabin, their argument only begins to escalate.

Meechum is kind of lovably cantankerous, his face affixed in a permanent frown. He feels he has the right to live on his own property, and frankly, he has a point. Working from a short story by William Gay, writer-director Scott Teems explains the central conflict by saying that Meechum’s lawyer son has the right to rent out the property because he is the trustee of his father’s estate. Someone really ought to take Gay and Teems aside and gently explain just what that means.

McKinnon, who actually has an Oscar (for live-action short), isn’t in Holbrook’s league as an actor, and he doesn’t quite put across the sense of menace his role requires. But we certainly get the idea. More natural in their roles are Carrie Preston (of “True Blood”) as his sympathetic wife and -- despite forcing her Southern accent -- Mia Wasikowska (of “Alice in Wonderland”) as their coltish and kind daughter.

In a cameo, Holbrook’s late wife Dixie Carter plays his character’s late wife.

Behind the camera, Teems has chosen to take a languorous pace, which works both to the film’s benefit and detriment. When it works, it works well -- the little, finely observed details add a sense of place and character. But when it doesn’t work, those same details become an irritating waste of time. They remind us of that recent study showing that in an average football game, only 11 minutes are actually spent playing football. At times, “That Evening Sun” feels like it has the same ratio.

In a similar manner, Teems’ script also both soars and drops with a thud. At its best, the script has Meechum scolding his prevaricating son by saying “I would think not being able to lie convincingly to a jury would be a considerable handicap in your profession.” On the other hand, the same script requires Meechum to give vital exposition to a dog. Twice. And once the dog isn’t even alive.

“That Evening Son” is a small picture with a small budget, big performances and an intriguing story arc. It may drag at times and lack the polish associated with more money, but it certainly won’t be expected.

Incidentally, the title comes from “St. Louis Blues” by the great W.C. Handy. Readers of the review in the Richmond Times-Dispatch may have been surprised to read that it comes from an old song by Jimmie Rodgers. Rodgers was also great, but not genius enough to write “St. Louis Blues”