The Man in the Flying Lawn Chair Takes Flight

WARNING! This review contains SPOILERS!

Ryan Mekenian’s The Man in the Flying Lawn Chair is one of those screenplays that reminds me why I love stories rooted in the absurd yet entirely human. Set in 1980s Long Beach, it tells the story of a Vietnam veteran who builds a flying machine from weather balloons and a lawn chair. It’s ridiculous, moving and full of purpose once the structure of war and duty has faded away.

What I love most about this script is how delicately it balances tone. Mekenian takes an inherently comedic premise and grounds it in emotional truth. The dialogue feels natural, even when the situations are bizarre, and each exchange builds toward an emotional growth that’s surprisingly tender. It’s as much a love story as it is a character study, and I found myself laughing and aching in equal measure as Larry’s obsession takes flight—literally and metaphorically.

Mekenian’s writing is impressively tight. The pacing flows effortlessly, moving from humor to melancholy without ever feeling forced. The structure is clean, the transitions seamless, and the world feels alive with the kind of specificity that only comes from someone who deeply understands their characters. Every word feels earned. I especially admired how the screenplay never paints Larry as crazy or pathetic—it treats his dream with reverence, reminding us that human longing often lives right on the edge of foolishness.

Ryan Mekenian is an Armenian-American writer and director whose work consistently explores underrepresented voices and the universal struggle for identity and meaning. His background as a 2023 California Arts Council Emerging Artist Fellow and a USC School of Cinematic Arts alum shows in his craftsmanship. His previous film Spokespeople—which earned awards at both the Rhode Island International Film Festival and the Bolton International Film Festival—already demonstrated his knack for finding beauty and humor in unexpected corners of American life.

In The Man in the Flying Lawn Chair, Mekenian proves himself a “story scientist,” as he describes in his statement—someone who understands the delicate chemistry between tone, theme, and emotion. His humor never undercuts the story’s sincerity; it enhances it, allowing audiences to find themselves reflected in this strange, sky-bound dreamer who just wanted to rise above his disappointments.

From a technical standpoint, the script is a joy to read. The formatting is precise, the pacing snappy, and I didn’t spot a single distraction. It’s the kind of screenplay that practically reads itself, with dialogue that pops and imagery that soars. Every beat lands. I can easily see this story coming to life on screen as a darkly funny drama with broad appeal.

By the time I finished, I realized that The Man in the Flying Lawn Chair isn’t just about flight—it’s about freedom. About finding meaning in the pursuit itself, even when the world calls you foolish for trying. Ryan Mekenian has taken a true story and transformed it into a heartfelt ode to dreamers who dare to look up.