Before punk officially died, it traversed the Midwestern suburbs. Rebellious teenagers found solace in the head-banging misanthropy of the music, what with its promotion of anti-establishment ideals and the “fuck you mom and dad” messages raging through boomboxes nationwide. Patty (Emily Skeggs) isn’t what you would traditionally call “rebellious” but the punk lives within her. Gangly, geeky and clumsy, she moshes quietly in her room. Patty squirrels this part of herself away from her ultra-square conservative family but when convict punk-rocker Simon (Kyle Gallner) bursts into her life like the Kool-Aid Man, everything changes.

Part mean-spirited, cuss-laden, anti-society manifesto, part semi-soft-underbelly love story, Dinner in America, much like its anti-hero protagonist, Trojan horses a sweet core inside its antagonistic shell. But my oh my is that shell antagonistic. It’s hard to summon to mind a movie with a ruder, cruder, blunter, crueler main character than Simon. He’s… a lot. Simon fights and fucks his way through Dinner is America like a tornado. Not unlike Robert Pattinson’s Connie from the Safdie Brother’s Good Time, Simon is a one-man wrecking ball. We meet him leaving clinical trial and his mental state doesn’t pick up much from there. His aggression on the other hand ticks up a notable measure. The intensity with which Gallner plays Simon, and the hijinx the character finds himself in, be it burning down homes, screaming at dining strangers, or cuckolding company men, will likely turn many viewers off. That was not my experience however.

Gallner injects Simon with a zero-fucks-given cool that’s somewhere between hypnotic and hilarious; his frequent lashing out at any and all who come into his path a cornerstone of Dinner in America’s draw. But it’s Skeggs’ turn as the slower-witted but heartfelt Patty who steals the show. Her subtle transformation from bumbling outsider to satisfied punk rocker is imbued with a sincerity of spirit and embrace of inner-awkwardness that’s rare to see onscreen. Particularly for a female performer. When the two seemingly polar opposite characters collide, movie magic happens. It’s sweet and strange and lyrical. And certainly a one-of-a-kind brand of onscreen love story.

Writer, editor and director Adam Rehmeier doesn’t glaze over what makes his characters such outsiders. The world is cruel, especially so with these two. Through them, he explores why punk can be both so intoxicating and off-putting, for teens and parents respectively. The challenge to embrace, rather than reject, what makes people weird or angry is central to punk’s (and Dinner is America’s) soul. Neither of which are quite as misanthropic as they seem on the surface.

Nevertheless, Dinner is America flies its rebellious flag high. The glasses here are never rose-colored. Nothing and no-one is tamed. Even the headbanger of an original song, though sweet as a Beach House track, carries its tune “Fuck everyone but us” with a defiant wink. Rehmeier charges into the complication of his creations, not necessarily letting any of them off the hook for their myriad faults but also finding a chance to explore their inner turmoil and explain their rejection of the falsities of polite society. In telling an unruly tale of finding a kindred spirit where you least expect it, Dinner is America secretly does give a fuck. Perhaps many.

CONCLUSION: ‘Dinner in America’ is a rough-around-the-edges ode to love on the fringes of society, where a criminal punk rocker and a bizarre loner court an unlikely flirtation, all while navigating the suburbs, musical aspirations and the law. Expect a brash curb-stomp of a coming-of-age saga and prepare for impact.