One flawless film, two portraits in mirror. Two guys, of the unlikely kind. Bound by mutual respect, based on good intelligence and a healthy dose of derision. And a love for the fly in every one of its guises. An urge to grab a rod, preferably of interesting color, and go for a ride along the very first body of water around, even if it smells like poop and gasoline. Just to be there, feel the thrill of the gliding line, or the frustration of hooking a tree, to live the fly dream even where and when it’s not supposed to work. It’s the kind of fly fishing I love most, resilient and hungry, growing like grass in the cracks of the concrete streets. Fish Anywhere, the film.