Make no mistake—Waves is a difficult film. Not because it's boring or because of its 135-minute run time. In fact, the story of a family shattering and then slowly picking up the pieces is intriguing, and it clips along, with the narrative evenly split between the perspectives of two different characters.

Indeed, it's the emotion of the film—which sometimes verges on melodrama—that makes the moviegoing experience feel like a marathon. This is not inherently good or bad. It's certainly an excellent reminder that cinema is a medium with the power to completely unsettle us and heighten our emotions when we watch images on-screen. But, like with every marathon, it must be adequately prepared for.

The third feature-length film from writer-director Trey Edward Shults (and third collaboration with indie production company A24), Waves furthers Shults's obsession with the forces that keep families together and those that tear them apart.

It follows a suburban black American family in Florida, at the center of which is Tyler (Kelvin Harrison Jr.), a successful student athlete who's balancing schoolwork, partying, training, and hanging with his girlfriend, Alexis (Alexa Demie). He's under immense pressure—especially from his father, Ronald (Sterling K. Brown), whose dogged protectiveness of his family goes too far for their own well-being.

The first half of Waves follows Tyler and the consequences of pushing past his physical limits; a shoulder injury threatens to sideline his wrestling dreams (the pain of which is rendered with brutal reality by Harrison) and deteriorate his relationship with Alexis. The second half shifts the focus to his sister, Emily (played by Taylor Russell with dazzling effect), who is left to deal with the fallout of her brother's explosive behavior, both in her family and in the greater community.

Waves could feasibly take place in the same neighborhood as the HBO series Euphoria, a comparison only brought more to the fore by the fact that Demie stars in both. And, like the series, the film's use of careening cinematography—its spinning, dizzying opening sequence; the greenness of the greens; the low, urgent movement of the camera—seems to almost-just tip the story over into disarray before righting itself and soldiering on.

But it's the film's use of aspect ratios (five different ones in all) that clues audiences into the emotional state of the characters and pushes us into unease.

Waves begins with 1.85:1 (wide-screen) while introducing and establishing Tyler's story. Incrementally shrinking down to a boxlike 1:33 ratio at the frenetic emotional apex of the first half, Tyler and the audience are forced to inhabit a claustrophobic visual space that mirrors his emotional and mental state. But when the focus shifts to Emily, the aspect ratio loosens and blooms, slowly giving Emily (and us) a chance to breathe again.

While there are certainly shortcomings in the melodramatic manipulations of the plot (the shift in perspectives is a welcome breather to the first half, though it feels like a restart as opposed to a continuous narrative, and Shultz's tentative meditation on race seems a bit undercooked), it's truly the performances and creative technical aspects of Waves that make it a memorable and worthy watch. Just be sure to bring a box of tissues and a hand to hold.