Three close friends, living in a small town, married and settled, habitual and unsuspecting, routine linear sturdy timber, off for an expected excursion, wives, nothing to be worried about.
But a salacious drug and alcohol fuelled binge replaces their traditional fishing trip, in none other than fabled Amsterdam, during which an adulterous peculiarity comes to light, ushering in a new set of incongruous relational vertices, discordant complexities, whose devastated heartbroken pinpricked clutches, deceptively destabilize a longstanding foundation of trust.
It's a morality tale.
A classic case of conjugal infidelity crushing one's sense of purpose and well-being.
The crush is perhaps too limiting as its despondent affects prevent Sam (Robin Aubert) from taking part in most of the film, exploratory analysis sacrificed for betrayed obsession, Amsterdam examining the detonation of reason, as thoughts of forgiveness abandon.
His friends are left trying to explain his absence after he chooses to remain in Europe, their cover-up exacerbating the situation, lies, trauma, incompatibility.
They didn't hire Columbo to investigate this one.
Old school yet relevant, Amsterdam substantializes conceptions of loyalty and friendship, refusing to disqualify their guilt, hardboiled chaotic remorse.
But it really boils down to childishness.
Whose the more childish, Sam or Jeff (Gabriel Sabourin)?
From right to left?
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