The high-concept elevator pitch description for Christy Hall’s “Daddio” would probably be something along the lines of “‘Locke’ as a two-hander,” or maybe “‘Collateral’ without the killing,” though it’s better than either of those loglines might lead you to believe. The premise is a simple one: Dakota Johnson (never named on-camera) plays a young woman coming home to New York who takes a cab from JFK to her home in Hell’s Kitchen. Along the way, she strikes up a conversation with Clark (Sean Penn), her cab driver— a conversation that goes on longer than expected, thanks to late-night construction, traffic, and a fender bender. That’s it, that’s the whole movie. 
READ MORE: Toronto International Film Festival 2023: 26 Must-See Films To Watch At TIFF
Their byplay is playful without (thankfully) veering into creepy flirtation; he sizes her up immediately as someone who can “handle” herself and is accordingly respectful(ish). Like many a New York cabbie, he’s a mobile philosopher with all sorts of well-rehearsed speeches, theories, and predictions in his back pocket, trotted out at the slightest provocation. She initially agrees with him because it’s easier. (This is a not uncommon response.) She’s also distracted, doing some texting, trying to resist the horny guy on the other side of the messages, who wants to talk dirty and “see pink.” But he keeps asking questions (“Can’t be a know-it-all if I don’t know nothin’,” he reasons), and when they start talking about the differences between men and women and what the man she’s texting with is genuinely after, she pushes back. “I’m not that girl,” she insists, and when he keeps going, she cuts him off: “I seriously fuckin’ hate you right now. This is everything that’s wrong with the world.”
If that all sounds nakedly schematic, well, you might want to stay away — and it is, to be clear, but it’s not pretending to be anything else. “Daddio” is a stage play on wheels, with all of the typical theatrical conventions intact: Heightened language, periscoped storytelling, and cranked-up emotion. (This is not merely passing judgment; Hall is a playwright and adapted this screenplay from its original stage form.) But once you grant it those devices, once you follow Hall and her actors into that specific artistic space, well, it plays. Of course, no real passenger or real cab driver would open up to each other this much, with this sort of surgical precision, and come out of it the other side with a better understanding of themselves exactly like this; that’s a given. But when he asks her, “Who else you gonna talk to about this shit,” and reasons, “Not like you’re ever gonna see me again,” well, you either give yourself over to that contrivance, or you don’t.
It helps that Hall’s writing is so insightful. There’s a well-observed authenticity to these characters, and she gets all the logistical and geographic details right (which seems like a small hurdle to clear, but you’d be surprised how many directors and screenwriters don’t bother); yes, that’s exactly where she would live, and when we find out he has a little house in Jackson Heights, that checks out too. 
Johnson and Penn, a bit of an odd couple, are very good together. They’re of different generations and intensity, but the more they’re on screen together, the clearer it becomes that these are actors of similar naturalism, off-handedness, and intuitiveness. And both roles are ideal vehicles for what they do well; she’s sharp and spirited and not easily spooked, and he’s grizzled and gregarious and maybe not as smart as he thinks. We marvel at how expertly she can deploy a knowing smile, or a dry laugh, or (especially) all of the complicated emotions that are flashing across her eyes during her silent phone conversations. And he’s a Neanderthal, but a reasonably charismatic and self-aware one; “Listen, I run my mouth sometimes; that’s my problem,” he explains, as a kind of an apology. “I like to push buttons.” It’s not an easy role to pull off, but he makes the fleeting flashes of humanity count. Watch the long pause he takes when she asks if he misses his wife and the way his eyes soften enough to let the real guy through, if only for a moment.
“Daddio” looks terrific — Hall’s cinematographer, the great Phedon Papamichael, shoots the city at night with a kind of dark, sleek beauty, and the effects trickery used to pull off the shoot in its brief 16-day window is eerily convincing. The picture does go on a bit too long, and Hall’s occasional tendency to overwrite really gets the best of her at the end; a nervous playwright will often put it all into words rather than trust the actors to put it across. But Johnson and Penn’s connection is genuine, and there’s an awful lot to like here. Shame about that title. [B]
Follow along for all our coverage of the 2023 Toronto International Film Festival.