Off the Record

Set against the backdrop of LA's glittering but unforgiving music scene, Off the Record tells the story of Astor Grey, a young singer on the cusp of fame who seems to have everything-talent, love, and a big break. But as her world starts to unravel, the film explores the emotional cost of chasing success in an industry that often demands silence in exchange for opportunity. Rainey Qualley delivers a quietly stunning performance, capturing both Astor's vulnerability and strength with a natural, lived-in quality that gives the film its emotional core.

What makes Off the Record stand out is its heartfelt honesty. It doesn't sensationalize trauma or paint success as a fairytale-it leans into the uncomfortable truths of ambition, power dynamics, and emotional manipulation, while still holding space for hope and healing. The soundtrack is beautifully woven into the story, enhancing the mood without overwhelming it, and the direction stays grounded and sincere. It's not a perfect film, but its sincerity and emotional depth leave a lasting impression.

Movies about abuse are never easy to get right. The subject matter is inherently heavy, and it takes a careful hand to balance emotional weight with narrative drive. Off the Record doesn't nail every beat, there are a few moments that feel a little off or underdeveloped, but overall, it lands on the right side of honest and heartfelt.

At the center of it all is Rainey Qualley, who gives a quietly powerful performance that carries the film. She brings a rawness to the role that feels authentic without being overplayed, and it's clear she's someone to watch. The film's emotional core rests on her shoulders, and she more than holds her own.

The music and score deserve a shoutout too-it's one of the film's strongest elements, setting the tone beautifully and enhancing the story without ever feeling intrusive. There are a few surprise cameos that add a playful energy, and the supporting cast rounds things out with warmth and charisma, helping lighten some of the heavier moments.

Off the Record might not be perfect, but it's trying to say something meaningful, and that effort comes through. It's a sincere, well-crafted film that handles a tough topic with care, while still managing to entertain.

Off the Record is a refreshing and quietly powerful film that digs beneath the glossy surface of fame to explore the emotional wreckage that often gets left behind. Instead of leaning into the usual clichés of the music industry, it chooses honesty-both in storytelling and performance. LA singer Astor Grey's journey is messy, raw, and painfully relatable, and watching her navigate a toxic relationship while chasing her dreams feels both heartbreaking and deeply human.

It's rare to see a film that gives so much space to vulnerability without feeling forced or overly dramatic. The pacing is thoughtful, the cinematography intimate, and the music-woven throughout the narrative-is haunting in the best way. Off the Record doesn't try to shout; it resonates quietly and stays with you long after the credits roll. In a landscape crowded with predictable plots and loud spectacle, this one feels like a breath of fresh air.

Off the Record follows LA musician Astor Grey as she navigates the highs and lows of love, fame, and artistic identity. On the surface, she seems to have it all-romance, a career breakthrough, and a glamorous life with her rock star boyfriend. But as the film unfolds, it becomes clear that success in the music industry often comes with painful compromises.

While some plot beats are a bit predictable, that's part of what makes it feel real-life doesn't always surprise us, but it still hits hard. The film finds its strength in the performances, with a talented cast that brings emotional depth and authenticity to each moment. There are scenes that genuinely shine, reminding us that even in a familiar story, there's always room for heart and resonance.

Rainey Qualley delivers a standout performance as Astor Grey, a rising indie singer whose talent is undeniable, but so is her vulnerability. Between gigs and commercial work, Astor is trying to make something real. Enter Brandyn Verge, a washed-up rockstar with a slick smile and something to prove. Ryan Hansen plays him with an unnerving blend of charm and volatility, he's not a villain in the cartoon sense, which is what makes him dangerous. The relationship that unfolds is seductive, erratic, and edged with dread.

What starts as a familiar story, a younger artist lured by an older mentor, becomes something far thornier. Foe isn't interested in easy labels. She's interested in power: who has it, how it's taken, and what it costs to reclaim. And when Astor finally finds her voice, both musically and metaphorically, it's not in a triumphant anthem, but something raw, defiant, and earned.

The supporting cast adds texture. Olivia Sui brings grounded energy to the best-friend role, while Julia Campbell is quietly commanding as Astor's mother, who's seen the game and knows the rules. Rebecca De Mornay is pitch-perfect as the tough as nails manager and ally , and blink-and-you'll-miss-it cameos from the likes of Billy Gibbons and Peyton Manning add sly levity.

Yes, you can spot echoes of A Star Is Born here, but Foe's film isn't a tragedy. It's a rebellion. Off the Record is about survival, self-definition, and how women are done waiting for permission to take the mic. In a post-MeToo world still wrestling with old power structures, this film doesn't just feel timely-it, feels necessary.