This very weekend, Shia LaBeouf’s latest movie, American Honey, will expand to a theater near you—and boy, is it terrific: A nearly three-hour-long travelogue about a bunch of aimless but (mostly) goodhearted teens and twenty-somethings who drink, rap, and scam their way across the sun-scorched, strip-malled Midwest, all the while trying to sell magazine subscriptions door-to-door. There’s not much more plot than that, but director Andrea Arnold is so sharply, smartly fixated on the unsure rhythms and pivots of young love—and on the ways poverty has pockmarked America—that you really won’t care. If you dug such brutally honest feral-kid classics as Over the Edge or Suburbia or Kids, you’ll love it.

And you’ll also kind of love LaBeouf, who plays his rattail-sporting hustler Jake with enough jittery, cocksure ferocity to remind you that, in the years before he became one of Bay-Bay’s kids, the 30-year-old was pegged as one of the next great actors of his generation … until he became more famous for his arrests and his art projects (though, truth be told, some of said projects were actually interesting comments on his own celebrity, and he was also spending a lot of his time working with directors like Lars von Trier and Robert Redford). Between American Honey and his forthcoming John McEnroe biopic, we are clearly heading toward a revival-slash-re-appreciation of all things LaBeouf, much like the McConaissance, the Reese-Surgence, and the Travoltassance. But what should we call it? Our terrible ideas are below; be sure to vote, and feel free to add your own in the comments.

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What Should We Call Shia LaBeouf’s Comeback? The ReShiaval? The ReBeouf?