Sean interacts with one other human character in The Alchemist Cookbook, a vaguely defined relative named Cortez, played by Amari Cheatom. Late in the film, when his constant feline companion is suddenly missing, it’s as anxious and disorienting as any other moment in the film. One of the strongest and most memorable arcs of the film is his relationship to a possum. Without much in the way of human company, Sean comes alive in small moments shared with non-verbal companions. The film is kept insular by severing most ties to the outside world, holding close to Sean alone in the Michigan woods. Sean struggles, that much is clear, but almost all of the external variables that brought him to the point where we meet him are just barely hinted at. Such an isolated, weird performance could be hard to connect with, but Hickson and Potrykus make it all feel human. Much of the film is spent watching him in during a mental grapple with himself, scored by classical music, hip hop, and punk rock.
Ty Hickson plays Sean, the lead in a role where the vast majority of his screentime is shared with animals or imaginary(?) demons. This is a film with an aura, and for a film that deals so much with the implied, or presences more felt than seen, the balance is an accomplishment for Potrykus. Much of what I like about it lies just beyond the grasp of my ability to verbalize, possibly because what I enjoyed so much in the film doesn’t quite feel concrete, and might more come from the feeling the film captures.
Plotwise, that’s about all there is to Joel Potrykus’ The Alchemist Cookbook, a film that I find hard to organize thoughts on. A man lives alone in the woods with his cat, attempting to use alchemy to summon the devil and create riches for himself.