Growing up Doesn’t Ask Permission

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MOVIE REVIEWS
BRB
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Genre: Coming-of-age, Comedy-Drama
Year Released: 2026
Runtime: 1h 33m
Director(s): Kate Cobb
Writer(s): Michael Waller, Sydney Blackburn
Cast: Autumn Best, Zoe Colletti, Beth Lacke, Keith Kupferer, Richard David, Dan Haller, Cristian Lager
Where to Watch: shown at the 2026 Slamdance Film Festival

RAVING REVIEW: What does it mean to grow up in a moment when the perception of privacy is fragile, identity is curated, and desire is learned through a screen rather than lived experience? BRB doesn’t treat that question as nostalgia bait or sarcastic shorthand. Instead, it approaches the early-internet experience as something volatile and formative, a space where intimacy and exposure were inseparable, and where the urge to be seen could feel just as dangerous as being invisible. Set during the era of dial-up modems, the film understands that this wasn’t simply a technological phase, but an emotional one, especially for young women learning who they were allowed to be. While I grew up and was molded by these same moments, my firsthand experience was as a teenage boy on the other side. I think that made me appreciate the film even more!

The story centers on Sam, a fifteen-year-old girl who convinces herself that a connection exists somewhere beyond her local small-town life, specifically inside a chatroom relationship she’s never tested in the real world. Her decision to pursue that connection sparks a road trip with her older sister, Dylan, a pairing that gives the film its emotional heartbeat, the good, the bad, and the hurtful. This isn’t a neat opposites-attract dynamic or a clean mentor-mentee relationship. Their bond is complicated, brittle, and shaped by quiet resentments as much as love. This is a coming-of-age story told in real time. We see the evolution of family, while the dangers of the internet hover over the story throughout.

Kate Cobb’s direction refuses to soften the sharp edges between sisters. BRB understands that sisterhood is rarely gentle, especially when two teenage girls are still figuring themselves out. Dylan’s shapeshifting ability, her capability to adjust herself to whoever she thinks she needs to be for approval, is in constant tension with Sam’s desire to be seen for who she is, disability included, without apology or performance. Yet, she is horrified by the idea of sharing who she is. Neither approach is framed as correct or noble. They’re survival strategies learned at different stages of growing up.

What makes the film especially effective is its refusal to treat Sam’s vulnerability as inspirational shorthand. Her disability isn’t aestheticized or used as a lesson for other characters. It simply exists as part of how she moves through the world, how she measures risk, and how much courage it takes for her to believe she deserves affection without conditions. Autumn Best plays Sam with an intensity that never tips into sentimentality. There’s an awareness in her performance that longing can be both sincere and reckless, especially when it’s fueled by isolation.

Zoe Colletti’s Dylan is less openly sympathetic but equally as impactful. She’s restless, defensive, and deeply aware of how easily young women are judged for wanting too much. Dylan doesn’t protect Sam because she thinks shes superior or more mature, but because she recognizes pieces of herself in the danger Sam is walking toward. That recognition gives their relationship a rawness that feels earned rather than scripted.

The road-trip structure works because it isn’t framed as liberating. Each mile traveled heightens the sense that this journey might be a mistake, but also that it’s a necessary one. BRB understands that coming-of-age isn’t about making the right choice, but about surviving the wrong ones long enough to learn from them. The film’s humor, often painfully awkward, functions as an emotional release.

The film avoids over-stylizing its period setting. The early Internet details are present, but never overplayed as a gimmick. There’s no indulgent montage designed to trigger recognition applause. Instead, those elements sit quietly in the background, reinforcing how normalized this environment felt at the time. The danger wasn’t obvious because it wasn’t framed as danger. It was framed as a possibility. It also helps make the story timeless; without certain scenes, you could set this film in the present day, and it would still convey a similar message.

BRB doesn’t condemn Sam’s choices or try to moralize her curiosity. It recognizes that wanting connection isn’t a flaw, even when it leads to harm. The film’s empathy lies in its understanding that adolescence often requires people to make decisions before they have the tools to understand the consequences.

Where BRB truly distinguishes itself is in its refusal to offer the expected emotional closure. The film doesn’t pretend that one trip, one confrontation, or one moment of clarity resolves years of insecurity or learned behavior. Growth here is incremental, uneven, and unfinished. Childhood doesn’t wrap itself up in one weekend, and neither does the damage done during it.

BRB isn’t interested in romanticizing the past or condemning it. Instead, it sits in the uncomfortable space between memory and consequence, asking what it meant to come of age in a moment when being seen felt like power and exposure felt like love. It’s a film that understands how early internet culture shaped emotional development, particularly for young women, long before anyone had language for the risks involved. By the time the credits roll, BRB doesn’t feel like a cautionary tale or a postcard from the past. It feels like a reckoning, one that trusts its audience to sit with discomfort rather than resolve it. That trust is what gives the film its weight, and what ultimately makes it linger.

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[photo courtesy of CHICAGO MEDIA ANGELS]

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