In one of the most riveting lead performances of 2015, Christopher Abbott plays the emotionally adrift James White. He’s a twentysomething in the midst of a terrible family double-tragedy: his father’s just passed and his mother, Gail (Cynthia Nixon), has terminal cancer. It’s a chilly November morning in New York City and there’s a memorial for his father being held at his mom’s apartment where friends and family have gathered to mourn, but that’s not where James is. James is slumping through a raging club, drunk and delirious, pushing his way past sweaty young bodies in his stinky gray hoodie (which he seldom changes). He emerges from the den of excess, steps into sunlight and hops into a cab. When he finally arrives at the gathering, he meets the grieving guests with dark circles under his eyes, smelling of gym socks and booze. All he wants is for everyone to leave so that he can continue to bum on his mom’s couch and party every night. He’s an easy read: Scumbag. Slacker. Fuck-up. Freeloader.

James White, the moving directorial debut of Brooklyn filmmaker Josh Mond, doesn’t let you write James off so easily. In addition to being a total slob and a bully who’s more than happy to lay hands on any stranger who rubs him the wrong way, he’s an attentive caregiver, a loving son and a good friend. He’s only got one friend, Nick (Scott “Kid Cudi” Mescudi), but they’re tight; they back each other up in bar fights, and Nick’s happy to help take care of Gail at the drop of a hat. James can be a dick, but slowly we begin to understand his mental oddities and hangups. He unleashes his anger on people outside of his tiny inner circle because he’d never intentionally hurt the ones he loves. Does that make him a good guy? An asshole? He’s neither, existing in that complicated, dark, mysterious space in between. He’s a ticking time bomb, and as his story unfolds, we learn what makes him tick.

Sympathy for James blossoms as we get to know him, but melodrama and sentimentality are virtual non-factors in Mond’s storytelling. James White is a chillingly up-close-and-personal observation of a young man bubbling with so much emotion that he exists perpetually at the precipice of physical and psychological implosion. Dire, stressful situations like James’ are ugly and messy and horrible, so Mond doesn’t attempt to paint a pretty picture.

Still, glimmers of sweetness arise as we unpack James’ mental baggage. He’s got some serious (scary) anger issues, but being around his mother brings out his softer, compassionate side: When Gail’s admitted to the hospital following a frightful mental lapse, James gets frustrated that he can’t find her a bed amid the chaotic hospital traffic of busy doctors and nurses. In the name of her well being, he tries exercising patience. “All I’m trying to do is get her a bed,” he pleads with the bed manager. “She’s down there sitting in her own shit. I’m just trying to do anything I can do to help her.” The most powerful scene involves son helping mother from bedroom to bathroom, carrying her weight as she’s too sick to stand. Gail’s too exhausted to make it back to her bed and asks James to sit for a minute, burying her head in his chest. “Where do you want to be?” he asks her gently. “Paris,” she whispers.

Such subtle, penetrating character work is a hallmark of the film collective to which Mond belongs, Brooklyn’s Borderline Films. Mond and fellow filmmakers/best friends Sean Durkin and Antonio Campos were the guys behind Martha Marcy May Marlene and Simon Killer, and James White fits comfortably into the group’s catalogue of low-and-slow psychological dramas.

The Borderline fellows have also exhibited a keen eye for visual poetry and meaning, and Mond’s film may just be their crowning achievement in that regard. Cinematographer Mátyás Erdély employs the same clingy, close-proximity technique that made his work on Son of Saul so widely discussed and dissected in cinephile circles, almost never straying more than a foot from James side even as he rushes through swinging doors to escape uncomfortable interactions. Staying so tight on James never gives us an inch of breathing room should we feel the urge to shy away from his pain or the tension of the disaster he’s dealing with.

Given this perma-close-up technique pretty much defines the film visually, the pressure was on Abbott to turn in a breakthrough performance, and he obliged to astounding effect. The former Girls actor powers through the movie with the force and velocity of a cannonball, bringing a different color and energy to each scene. Without a doubt, Abbott proves he’s a world-class talent, and Nixon’s equally stunning performance takes James White to another level.

Starting off with one tragedy and ending with another, Josh Mond’s directorial debut James White continues to show why Borderline Films—a production company founded by Mond, Sean Durkin (Martha Marcy May Marlene) and Antonio Campos (Simon Killer)—is one of the most exciting things going on in the world of American indies right now. The film opens with its title character (Christopher Abbott, shedding anything that would associate him with his role on HBO’s Girls) going out clubbing before heading off to a memorial service for his recently deceased father. He still lives at home with his mother Gail (Cynthia Nixon), doesn’t have a job, and relies on his only friend (Scott Mescudi, aka Kid Cudi) to go bar hopping with him. James is the classic definition of a fuck-up from the looks of it: young, aimless, and with only a faint idea of what he wants to pursue. James attempts to get away from home by taking an extended vacation in Mexico, but it gets cut short once his mother calls saying her cancer has returned. James returns home, realizing that he has no choice but to get his life in order as he prepares for his mother’s death.

Watching James White can feel like diving straight into an open wound, and Mond (who based part of the film around his own personal experiences) makes every moment feel as raw and visceral as possible. Working with cinematographer Matyas Erdely (who also worked on Miss Bala and Son of Saul), the camera constantly gets as close as possible to its characters, lending an immediacy to the proceedings that make it both gut-wrenching and hard to look away. And the cast works together beautifully, with Abbott and Nixon giving two of the year’s strongest performances. It may be hard to find an exact point or statement to Mond’s film, but the fact that it so quickly jumps in and out of its main character’s life is what makes its drama so impactful. It gives a very brief, specific glimpse of a situation touching on the universal experience of loss, and through it delivers an incredibly strong drama.

While tales of the war zone that is online dating in our modern era are timely, the release date of the latest film to cover the subject, Two Night Stand, seems to be a bit off. Taking place between Christmas and New Years in snowy New York City, the distributors might have aimed for a winter release, capitalizing on the resolutions and expectations that soar at the New Year around romance. Enrollment on online dating sites certainly skyrocket during that time of year, and audiences might have welcomed a cheerful rom-com both commiserating and encouraging their resolve. Instead, it is September, and unfortunately Two Night Stand is a modern digital-era romance confusingly trying to capture the charm of the classic 90’s rom-com.

The film follows Megan (Analeigh Tipton) as she faces unemployment, a roommate (Jessica Szohr) with both a job and a boyfriend (Scott Mescudi aka Kid Cudi), and a recent breakup, all around the holidays. She decides to partake in online dating, a common enough practice among twenty-somethings. After a run-in with her ex, her roommate encourages her to find a hookup using the site, a one night stand. With a few glasses of wine in her, Megan reaches out and Alec (Miles Teller) responds. She asks him a few clarifying questions, mainly about the cleanliness of his apartment, before trekking to Brooklyn. The night goes as planned, but it’s the next morning that brings a challenge. After a terse morning-after conversation, wherein Megan and Alec decide they’d like never to see each other again, Megan descends to the street to find a snowstorm has trapped her at Alec’s. Faced with having to confront and converse with what was supposed to be a hookup partner and nothing more, the two exchange banter aplenty before deciding this may be their chance to give each other a little useful feedback.

In some ways, first time director Max Nichols accomplishes this strange 90’s throwback. Teller is a young Tom Hanks reincarnate but with enough of that fast-talking millennial edge. Tipton bats her eyes, and tips her head with a Meg Ryan quality, and she speaks many of her lines with an unintentional cuteness. While each seems inherently talented, the real problem is that the romantic dynamic of a You’ve Got Mail or a Sleepless in Seattle just doesn’t hold up in today’s contemporary hookup tradition. The most relatable parts of the film focus on the dishonesty around online dating, the embellishment and presentation one can manipulate in an online profile. But the film lacks in fully forming either Alec or Megan.

Alec spouts off his philosophy around ambition, his disinterest in being passionate about his career. The sort of manifesto one might expect from a millennial except that they’ve proven to be one of the most driven and passionate generations, not always around their careers, but around their well-defined values. Megan, on the other hand is current with her comfort discussing sex, and yet seems distressed with her first foray into online dating and hooking up. Additionally she’s also given a lot of failed young-people lingo lines–“I’ve been sexiled”–that completely discredits her.

While Mark Hammer’s dialogue keeps up the pace well throughout a film that mostly takes place within one apartment, it only slightly capitalizes on the meet-awkward scenario. And strangely, Megan and Alec’s fast-paced and open line of communication (a well-used and modern device) is revoked in the name of conflict for the film’s ending. Anyone feeling nostalgic for a 90’s rom-com ending will certainly be pleased with Two Night Stand’s outcome. Anyone wanting to commiserate around their own failed (or successful) online dating attempts will laugh in Two Night Stand’s face.

Nichols makes great use of footage from the giant snowstorm that hit New York last January, one can almost feel the arctic cold of it. And Megan’s layered clothing look (no seriously, she must be wearing 6 or 7) had this LA lady wishing for sweater weather. In the end, though, Two Night Stand won’t likely garner the same respect it’s 90’s rom-com subliminal inspirations enjoy, and is more a rentable film for a future snow day. Or an LA sick day, as it were.