This time, the flare-up is over a jar of expired sauce. He slams the jar into the garbage bag; she fishes it out and nearly slices open her hand.
He likes the kids who act out. They're more honest, he says. But what about the kids who stuff their pain so deep it eats them alive, even as they smile and get good grades?
At a few points during the film, the panelists pause it to take questions. Some of them respond with substantive answers. Others devote their time to protracted thanks, reeling off names. The lights over the screen sear our eyes.
A panhandler wearing a Trump mask props up a sign in front of him that says "Mexican Wall Fund."
At a meal of rituals, songs, and prayers, he keeps an eye on hockey scores, checking his phone with an exaggerated sneakiness that's meant to fool no one.
They hug, for once, in a small room saturated with cooking smells - meat sizzling, herbed potatoes softening.
We toss ideas back and forth and build a story, with joy and energy.