Review by Sean Boelman
French filmmaker Quentin Dupieux has reached a point in his career where he’s able to crank out multiple films a year, surprisingly without suffering from diminishing returns. The first of his two 2023 pictures to make its debut stateside, Yannick, is a brief but potent satire that sees him straying away from his recent maximalist tendencies without losing sight of what makes his voice so distinctive.
The movie follows a jaded construction worker who decides to see a play on a rare night off. However, when the performance is not to his standards, he decides to take matters into his own hands and demand a more entertaining evening. Shot quickly and quietly, Dupieux’s latest is the type of film that doesn’t feel subversive until you start peeling back its layers. As is the case with most of Dupieux’s output, Yannick is delightfully brief, clocking in at a mere 67 minutes in total. However, Yannick is minimalist in even more ways than that. The entire movie is set in the confines of a single location — a small theatre — and has a much more grounded plot than his usual repertoire. The absurdity comes not from whimsy and fantasy but from the frankness with which Dupieux approaches this topic. It will come as no surprise that Yannick is Dupieux’s most meta film since Reality and perhaps even exceeds it in terms of self-referential commentary. Dupieux is clearly reflecting on the criticisms that have been levied against him in the past, with the end message being that, above all else, he just wants to give people a good time. He succeeds in that goal with flying colors.
Although this lacks the laugh-out-loud humor of Dupieux’s past work, its incredibly sharp observations are often quite funny. It’s definitely a lot more esoteric than most of the French filmmaker’s comedy, but those who have been following Dupieux’s work for a while, or are at least attuned to the idiosyncrasies of French comedy, will be able to get on the movie’s sardonic wavelength.
Part of what makes Yannick work so much better than other satires exploring the relationship between artist and audience is that Dupieux does not feel like he is asking for pity or even sympathy. He doesn’t villainize the stand-in for critics — in fact, he’s the most sympathetic character of the bunch. But as an artist, he also shines a light on the artists’ perspective and the effort and passion they put into their craft, even if it doesn’t turn out as expected. Raphaël Quenard is hilarious and unexpectedly charming as the eponymous interruptor. For a character who spends most of the runtime shouting and complaining, Quenard manages to not come across as whiny. The rest of the ensemble is also good, mostly functioning to bounce off Quenard. Yannick puts up a low-key guise, but if you really engage with the film on its own level, it’s one of Dupieux’s most nuanced works. Although its focus on meta-commentary makes this a mostly fans-only affair, those accustomed to the absurdist filmmaker’s ways have another delight on their hands. Yannick streams on Mubi beginning April 5. Rating: 4/5
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Review by Sean Boelman
British filmmaker Ken Loach is perhaps one of the most well-known social realism filmmakers of today and all time, commenting on real issues with hard-hitting stories. Thus, it comes as a bit of a surprise that The Old Oak, Loach’s last film before he is set to retire, feels so quaint. Although it deals with some weighty themes, this drama fails to leave much of a lasting impression.
The Old Oak tells the story of the owner and patrons of a bar in a small village in England as the arrival of a group of Syrian refugees rocks their tight-knit community. This is hardly the most precarious topic Loach has bitten off in the past, but Paul Laverty’s script fails to truly differentiate its commentary from that of the many films discussing the refugee crisis in the past. One of The Old Oak's most significant flaws is its need to tell this story from the white perspective. Although Laverty clearly means well with his message, encouraging people to treat one another with empathy, it verges on pandering. At a certain point, one also has to wonder who this movie is serving. Those who need to hear the message most aren’t going to seek a movie like this out anyway, and the audience it will attract may feel condescended to. The film also struggles to reconcile Loach’s signature intimacy with the broader strokes he is painting with here. The way the story is structured, it feels like there is about to be an explosive climax, and there isn’t. In typical Loach style, The Old Oak eschews flashy melodrama in favor of a more low-key, realistic exploration of the mundanity of hate. Loach is clearly more interested in exploring the microaggressions of racist society than he is in the more outwardly dangerous expressions of hate.
This conversation is certainly an interesting one and offers a somewhat fresh perspective on a topic that many filmmakers have commented on in the past, but coming from one of the world’s greatest social filmmakers, it all feels a bit too soft. Although the movie’s suggestion of “get with the times or get out of the way” is certainly admirable, it’s not nearly condemning enough of the bigotry we see on screen.
And while the characters they play are sometimes frustratingly archetypal, the cast does a respectable job. Dave Turner, whose only past acting experience was minor roles in Loach’s last two films, brings a lovable charm to his role, and Ebla Mari — a complete newcomer — exudes an astounding amount of confidence. However, what is missing from these characters is a believable interplay. Laverty is seemingly trying to set up an “odd couple” dynamic between the duo, an unlikely alliance that forms between them because they see the innate goodness within one another. Yet — and it’s hard to tell if the responsibility lies on the writer or the performers — it never feels like these two people would be friends in real life. This spoils the feeling of realism that Loach painstakingly tries to create. The Old Oak is hardly a bad movie, but seeing one of the world’s greatest filmmakers go out on a note that’s so familiar, comfortable, and safe is disappointing. Perhaps the most damning thing that can be said about Ken Loach’s swan song is that it’s pretty forgettable, which should absolutely not be the case. The Old Oak opens in theaters on April 5. Rating: 3.5/5 Review by Daniel Lima If the powers that be refuse to allow intellectual property to die, if the media franchises of days past must be cyclically brought back and obviate any breathing room for anything new, at the very least, they should be allowed to provide a platform for fresh voices to be heard. Fortunately, that is the case with The First Omen, the debut feature of Arkasha Stevenson. While it cannot escape the gravitational pull of the studio-enforced expectation to mimic the familiar, there is an energy, audacity, and artistry that shows a filmmaker fighting to leave a personal stamp and make something exciting. Set some years before the events of the 1978 original, the film follows a young novitiate, played by Nell Tiger Free, who has recently arrived in Rome. Having spent her entire life in the Church, even growing up in a Catholic orphanage, the bright-eyed young woman prepares to take her vows and serve in an orphanage herself. She quickly finds, however, that things are amiss and that a conspiracy may seek to bring unfathomable evil into the world. The original film series is, quite infamously, about the birth and life of the Antichrist. This film is a prequel, as the many visual and textual allusions make clear. Yet the script is structured as a mystery, with Free's innocent nun growing more frayed and manic as she circles closer to the truth. Considering none of the other movies — even the first — make any real attempt to subvert or misdirect the viewer, it is strange that what any reasonable person would assume was the basic premise of a prequel is positioned as a twist. Whatever The First Omen does right, it does without any sense of intrigue. And there is plenty that it does get right. The opening scene perfectly evokes the sense of dread and constant threat of infernal violence that runs through the first movie, even embracing the visual language of Donner's work: methodical long takes, slow zooms from far-off distances, heightening the sense of powerlessness of the characters in the current of biblical forces. The rest of the film follows suit, employing visual and dynamic lighting to nail the feel of a film out of time, to the point that I am convinced that parts of this were actually shot on celluloid. If not, it's an exquisite facsimile, almost certainly a testament to Stevenson's past as a photojournalist.
It's a rote story, particularly in the expository scenes, yet it never feels like a chore. This is due in large part to the ensemble — an impressive array of established character actors give life to roles that don't have much to them as written. From Sônia Braga's effortless aura of authority to Ralph Ineson's nervous paranoia (an intoxicating presence coupled with his booming voice), each character feels wholly self-possessed, with an entire history behind them. In particular, Nell Tiger Free turns in one of the best performances of the year so far, utterly committed physically and emotionally to the turmoil and anguish of a young woman struggling against infernal machinations. Most laudable is Stevenson's command of the craft within the horror set pieces. It is clear that she has a fondness for the genre, particularly with grisly body horror. There are a number of shameless visual references to landmark films — most notably Possession — that would come across as lazy were they not so seamlessly incorporated into the narrative and so expertly realized. There is such care in how sound reverberates through each space, the rhythm of each space, how much the audience sees and how much they do not, that these go beyond simple homage. This is an announcement of a new talent capable of delivering genuinely disturbing and disgusting imagery, the likes of which are sure to delight anyone with a genuine appreciation of the art. As invigorating as those scenes are and as accomplished as the film is as a whole, it is unfortunate that The First Omen ends on a reminder of the limitations of a project like this. At the end of the day, this is an attempt to keep corporate property alive within the popular consciousness, and so there is a natural ceiling to how far filmmakers are allowed to push things. Stevenson does her best to work within those confines, pushing things to the very brink of what would be allowed under such conservative boundaries, but ultimately cannot go any further. It's a sour note to bow out to, but hopefully, this is merely the first entry in a prolific career. The First Omen arrives in theaters April 4. Rating: 3.5/5
Review by Sean Boelman
Created and directed in its entirety by Steven Zaillian (Oscar-winning screenwriter of Schindler’s List), the new miniseries Ripley is unquestionably indulgent but fittingly so for its source material. From the lead performance to the astounding cinematography, this psychological thriller has a lot to like.
Adapted from Patricia Highsmith’s novel The Talented Mr. Ripley, this new series follows a man who is hired by the father of a wealthy socialite to bring his son back home, kicking off a dangerous web of lies and murder. Although many of the main beats will be known to audiences who have read Highsmith’s work or seen previous adaptations (including Anthony Minghella’s 1998 film), Ripley remains fresh thanks to incredible execution. One would hope that the eight-episode miniseries format would give writer-director Steven Zaillian more opportunity to explore the characters and themes of Highsmith’s work. For the most part, the added runtime instead goes to indulgence, but Zaillian has such an incredible grasp of the cinematic language that he draws viewers into the longer scenes, whether they’re dialogue-heavy or nearly free of speech. This slower pacing is sure to put off viewers who are not willing to be patient. It takes until about the third episode for anything explosive to happen, which is certainly abnormal for a thriller like this. Still, so many of the show’s sequences are incredible at capturing the essence of Highsmith’s character and writing that it’s hard to deny its effectiveness.
Zaillian has also succeeded in making one of the most visually delicious series in streaming history. Of course, it certainly helps that the show is essentially a travelogue across the most beautiful vistas in Europe, but the pristine black-and-white cinematography was a brilliant decision, creating both atmosphere and beauty.
However, if there’s one person responsible for most of the success of this new adaptation, it’s Andrew Scott. The actor yet again proves that he’s one of the most gifted working today, bringing the suave yet deceitful charm necessary for this role. Ripley is a character that many actors have tried their hand at, and Scott really manages to make it his own, thriving in the nuance of the audience’s shifting perception of the eponymous fraudster. One of the main areas where Ripley departs from the earlier adaptation of Highsmith’s novel is that the supporting cast does not hold their own against the lead. Johnny Flynn and Dakota Fanning are fine but forgettable — especially when compared to Jude Law and Gwyneth Paltrow. However, there are a few performances that stand out beyond Scott’s. The main one that comes to mind is Eliot Sumner, who only gets one episode but absolutely devours their part. Ripley may be a bit slow to start, but there are many gripping episodes and sequences that make this adaptation worthy of your time, even if you know the story. And with Andrew Scott bringing such an incredible version of the iconic character to the small screen, one can only hope that this mini-series becomes an anthology, as Highsmith wrote plenty more of these adventures that could be adapted. Ripley is now streaming on Netflix. All eight episodes reviewed. Rating: 4/5 Review by Camden Ferrell If one were to look at the most recent slate of Academy Award nominees for Animated Feature, one would find films about multiversal threats, existential fantasy with complex elements, and a shapeshifter on a city-saving quest among others. In the midst of the limitless imagination and high stakes of animation, it’s also nice to find some more subtle and low-stakes journeys such as Robot Dreams, another Oscar-nominee from this past year. Chicken for Linda! is another example of simple animated storytelling that strips down its storytelling to its bare bones and finds beauty regardless. This French film from directors Chiara Malta and Sébastien Laudenbach uses beautiful hand-painted imagery to give audiences a short, simple, and sweet film that is low-stakes, relaxing, and enjoyable. Linda is a young French girl who gets accused of giving away her mother’s prized ring. After unfairly punishing her, Linda’s mother Paulette discovers that Linda was not guilty of the act for which she had been disciplined. Feeling guilty for her unjust actions, Paulette agrees to fulfill a request from her daughter, a meal of chicken and peppers. Paulette, despite not knowing how to cook, sets forth to make this meal for her daughter in spite of ongoing labor strikes and other obstacles. This is a very simple premise that almost feels too bare at first, but the filmmaking team does a great job of making the most of its setup. Written by Malta and Laudenbach, the movie’s dialogue is straightforward and undemanding yet does a fantastic job of characterizing its players. The movie is able to effectively convey the characteristics of both Linda and Paullette while communicating their relationships and unique mother-daughter dynamic. From a story standpoint, it does a lot with little. With such a simple jumping off point, the movie is able to creatively tell its story in a way that is unique but doesn’t sacrifice its charming simplicity. One of the most distinctive aspects of this movie is its animation. It has a gorgeous and unique style that pops out to the viewer. It uses color-blocked characters in an engaging and visually impressive way that helps tell its story more effectively. There are also a handful of sequences in the movie that enter into a realm of fantasy that is fun and vibrant.
While it’s a cute and charming story with great animation, its main flaw can sometimes come from its occasional moments of convolution. As events spiral out of control for Paulette, certain narrative beats can feel like they briefly abandon the film’s simplicity, and the story suffers as a result. However, these flaws are far and few between, and the story recovers nicely. An adorable animated feature that both adults and kids will enjoy, Chicken for Linda! is yet another example of the joy and beauty that can be found in low-stakes storytelling. It makes the most of its simple premise and manages to be visually dazzling as well. It’s not perfect, but at seventy minutes, there’s no reason not to watch it. Chicken for Linda! is in theaters April 5. Rating: 4/5 Review by Jonathan Berk Rob in High Fidelity is organizing his record collection autobiographically, and he states that if he wants to find a specific song, he has to remember the event he associates with it. Marty in Back to the Future II travels through time, hoping to change something in the past to fix something in the future. Imagine if those two stories crossed, and it was placed into a romantic comedy of sorts. If that interests you, then director Ned Benson’s new film, The Greatest Hits, is for you. Harriet (Lucy Boynton) is approaching the two-year mark of the death of her former boyfriend, Max (David Corenswet), whom she revisits by listening to certain songs that transport her back in time. Her mission to figure out if she can change the past is jeopardized when a surprise collision with David (Justin H. Min) sparks a potential new love interest. The film utilizes this conceit in impactful ways as Harriet and David try to figure out how they fit into each other’s world. Boynton hasn’t been given too many chances to lead a film since her breakout performance in Sing Street. She does not waste the opportunity with this film. Her charm is on full display, and she easily wins over the audience. She is singularly focused now after being utterly destroyed by the loss of Max. Her performance feels genuine and so sincere. One of the biggest challenges with a film like this is establishing the status quo of the world. Benson’s script does a great job of initiating the rules and subsequently adhering to them. The records are sorted by “tested” and “untested,” and we see that she has a lot of earplugs and noise-canceling headphones. We also notice that her car radio is ripped out. It becomes clear after the first time we witness her time travel that she doesn’t know for sure what songs can send her back. Benson plays with a few other ideas in the script centered around this element, making it as intriguing as it is heartfelt. Grief is at the center of the story. It’s an emotion that works quite well with this metaphor. What if you could do something to save the one you loved? Most of the time, we simply wish for the possibility, but Harriet may actually be able to do something about it. She meets David at a grief counseling session, and through their shared grief, something new begins to grow. The possibility of finding happiness after all the pain creates feelings of hope and guilt. It makes what could just be an interesting premise resonate all the more.
Of course, what could be more ripe for this metaphor than music? Songs — and art in general — often send us back to that moment when we had a shared experience with it. A few lines from a song may send you back to that summer BBQ or the awful school dance. Music has the power to transport us back to when we were children or when our heart was split in twain. Benson’s film simply takes this concept most people are intimately familiar with and says, “What if it literally sent your back?” It works wonders for storytelling. The Greatest Hits is full of love and music. Fans of John Carney’s films Once or Sing Street will likely enjoy the sentiment found here. Benson’s only directed a couple of films with a decade between them, but he appears to have something impactful to say about grief. His latest is one to watch. The Greatest Hits will be in theaters on April 5. Rating: 4/5 Review by Daniel Lima It's a rare thing for a modern film set in an urban environment to evoke the gritty, lived-in feel of decades past. This is as much an indication of how the world has changed, with city centers rapidly gentrifying and pricing out working-class residents, as it is a testament to how this brand of filmmaking has gone out of fashion. Asphalt City strikes that note like nails on a chalkboard, abrasive and unpleasant, and impossible to ignore. It is a galvanizing, engrossing work... up to the point that it isn't. Tye Sheridan plays a young EMT in Brooklyn, working the overnight shift as he prepares for a medical school entrance exam. Human misery and pain become his everyday reality, and as he struggles to perform his duties, he finds himself beginning to lose his grip on right and wrong. The film presents a cynical, misanthropic vision of the world, where suffering is a constant, and the momentary reprieves only come from laughing through that suffering. A constant barrage of horrific scenes of domestic abuse, violent confrontations, physical illness, and death make up the majority of the runtime, each as taxing on the audience as it is on Sheridan's increasingly frayed newbie. Nights are filled with the screams of people and sirens, the stench of blood, sweat, and filth, and any effort to make a difference is met with indifference, contempt, and a gnawing sense of futility. This can make for an alienating watch, as the film offers little insight in staring into this abyss beyond merely making clear the depths it can reach. However, The lengths it takes to present this jaundiced worldview are truly impressive. The sound design cultivates a constantly busy and frenetic atmosphere where too much is happening at all times. Beautifully textured, high-contrast cinematography captures the city in all its ignoble glory, painting a portrait of urban life as desperate and harried as anything from the '70s and '80s. The editing reflects Sheridan's mental state, which is tense and always holding the promise of an explosive outburst. Whatever its narrative failings, Asphalt City never fails to be gripping. And it certainly has narrative failings. While the craft does an impressive job of bringing the audience into Sheridan's head, there isn't enough to the character to make his deteriorating sense of self feel particularly tragic. Similarly, while every single performance is incredibly natural and does much to give the film a sense of realism, the characters themselves never go beyond an archetype. This is especially notable for the women; while Mike Tyson gets to be the hard-nosed chief, and Sean Penn gets to play the grizzled veteran, the women are relegated to being defined solely by the men in their lives. Then, of course, is the interesting fact that just about every Black or brown character in the film is portrayed in a thoroughly negative light: violent, verbally abusive, ungrateful, dirty, disheveled, and nasty in every way one could imagine.
It could be argued that this is a consequence of seeing the world from the perspective of a young man who increasingly cannot help but see the world in the worst possible light. Beyond that, it could merely be the result of seeing these people in their worst moments, as they find themselves completely helpless and at the mercy of strangers. Even if this was actually director Jean-Stéphane Sauvaire's perspective, is there something to be said about getting this unadulterated, unsanitized vision of ugliness? Those arguments may hold sway if it were not for the note on which Asphalt City ends. After such an unflinching and uncompromising trek through urban grime, the film ultimately leaves out the possibility of hope, serenity, and change. The manner in which this is done feels disingenuous and artificial, giving everything that came before it a similarly fabricated air that undermines everything it did right. It's hard not to wonder if this ending was mandated in the face of producers nervous about the film's reception. If so, the wrong call was made. It's better to wallow in that muck than pretend it's a swimming pool. Asphalt City arrives in theaters March 29. Rating: 3.5/5 Review by Daniel Lima The reverence with which we hold the past, or the lack thereof, reflects who we are as individuals and as a society. As ineffable as La Chimera is, this is ultimately its central thesis, encompassing everything from the cultural history upon which our world is built to the personal joys and tragedies that carve grand reliefs onto our souls. As vexing as this exploration is, it’s hard not to give in to its rhythmic charms. The film follows an Englishman, haunted by a relationship that left him heartbroken, returning to the small rural Italian village his former beau once called home. Curmudgeonly and standoffish, he slowly falls in with his old band of rogues, employing his knack for finding Etruscan tombs to help them steal artifacts for the black market. As simple as his life may seem, there is a growing sense that meddling with the shrines of the dead may carry consequences, material or not. La Chimera lacks a clear narrative structure and takes its time to build out its small ecosystem. The grave robbers have a cavalier attitude about their activities, thinking of themselves almost as modern folk heroes. The intricate system by which they smuggle their wares sees them dealing with powerful figures to the point they never actually meet. The Englishman spends much time with his ex’s elderly grandmother, a singing instructor in a worn-down home who takes on a tone-dead student as a live-in maid. She engages in a flirtation with him, which he seemingly is incapable of properly reciprocating. These complicated relationships form the bulk of the film, and they are all beautifully captured on film, as warm and worn as the memories that plague the lonely people that populate the village. With no great urgency or even sense of importance, director Alice Rohrwacher is content in allowing the audience to sit in these moments with the characters, from gaudy celebrations to profane pilfering, and simply absorb the ambiance. Even on this superficial level, the film is a pleasant watch, hypnotizing in its idyllic portrait of the Italian countryside.
It is inevitable, however, that our nominal hero is forced to confront the reality of what he is doing. When he does, the division between the real and the fantastic begins to blur, and the heart of the film takes shape. La Chimera operates as a plea to respect the lives that have come before — the experiences that shape us all — without dwelling within those moments in perpetuity. Whether wading through a watery grave or clinging to love long lost, attempts to commodify or root oneself in the past are portrayed as grotesque acts that impede our ability to connect with the present. It is in living within the present moment, enshrining the past, and moving beyond it to build towards a better future that we can find true meaning and belonging. All that said, La Chimera is a vexing film by design. It is possible to come away from it with more cynical interpretations; I myself have some difficulty squaring the note that it ends on with the rest of the film, as it seems almost unconscionably cruel. Yet it’s a film that I would not be surprised to see grow in my own estimation the longer I sit with it. For now, I am satisfied in calling it uniquely ephemeral, contemplative, and engrossing. La Chimera arrives in theaters March 29. Rating: 3.5/5 Review by Joseph Fayed There's nothing traditional about On the Adamant simply because nothing like it has been profiled before. In this documentary, director Nicolas Philibert is granted access to a special day program, L'Adamant Day Center, for adults living with mental illness. The program's location stands out because it isn't inside any building you pass by on the street; it's a boat docked on the Seine River in Paris. The scenery around it isn't the only vibrant thing, as we see a colorful group of characters interacting with each other. It also proves how the heart and soul must be considered when discussing the mind and how to nurture it. The documentary is not very interview-heavy, which works in its favor. It refrains from focusing too heavily on the program's support staff except for moments where they require interaction with the patients, such as when going over their daily agenda. The archetypes the ensemble fits into are established early on. Examples include the artist who never quite made it, the older woman seeking affection, the single mother who lost custody of her son, etc. You can tell that during one-on-one interviews with each patient, they feel comfortable talking about themselves. Those conversations don't always feel like straightforward answers to straightforward questions. They give insight into their lives by first discussing a day in the life onboard the Adamant and then implying what brought them here and what they hope to gain. Telling the documentary in real time with its subjects humanizes those with mental illness better. The lack of focus on experts in mental health, for one, means nothing is eating away from the time we could be focusing on the actual participants in the program. Second, focusing on their diagnosis tends to lean towards addressing the negative aspects of mental illness rather than the positive. It would have been a major distraction from the uplifting moments of the group activities, so tonally, I'm glad this barely touched the surface level of mental illness because the alternative would've been exploitative. The overarching theme of this is creativity and personal freedoms being granted by an institutional force and what that entails. Most of what we see is how people can flourish under conditions that allow both structure and flexibility. One of the most fascinating parts of the documentary is of an older man who talks deeply about his love for cinema and his own close brushes with fame. His segment and the others feel intimate — even if they have vague answers to what was being asked of them. All they wanted was someone to listen to them, and the filmmakers respected that.
Passion for art doesn't need to feature one breaking the fourth wall or dropping shocking revelations. On the Adamant is meant to be an introduction into the lives of a small group of people with mental illness; it has the exact opposite approach as a documentary bringing awareness to the subject would typically have. All you need to be aware of is that people and a program like this exist, and then perhaps you should be motivated to research how these can be funded wherever you live. Vive la France and their humanistic approach towards treating mental health. On the Adamant is now in theaters. Rating: 4/5 Review by Cole Groth Dark comedy is hard to get right. Bob Byington’s Lousy Carter falls into the trappings of most weak films of this genre, with a script that’s far too cynical and abrasive to deliver as many laughs as it should. With a short runtime and a decent cast, fans of this genre might have fun watching this, but those expecting more than a few chuckles will be surprised when they watch this incredibly dry and mean-spirited comedy. Lousy Carter tells the story of an eponymously pathetic professor (David Krumholtz) diagnosed with a terminal illness. With only six months to live, Bob Byington gives us a darkly comedic look into the life of a man with nothing to lose, who somehow loses even more than he bargained for. Over a quick 76-minute runtime, we watch Lousy (yes, his actual name) destroy any existing relationships through a series of stupid decisions. The problems with this film lie in its lousy (heh) screenplay. At its core, it fails because Byington is projecting his sardonic views of the world in a way that doesn’t feel realistic. Most of the characters here are caricatures of real people. At one point, Lousy engages in an affair with his best friend’s wife, only to be told that it drew the two closer together because Lousy was so bad at sex. It’s a funny thought when written down, but the way it plays in the film is about as unfunny as possible. There are certain spots where the film is amusing, but more often than not, it’s balanced with an eye-rollingly dumb joke. For what it’s worth, David Krumholtz is decent in this. He’s a very talented actor, and after having a good role in Oppenheimer, it seems like his career is on the up and up. He’s joined by a decent cast, including Olivia Thirlby, Martin Starr, and Stephen Root. The actors are mostly let down by their parts, but Root is a particularly fun addition to an otherwise bland set of performances.
One particularly weak element is the cinematography. Some shots appear to be done with an iPhone, filmed with horrendous lighting and jarring cuts. Simply put, this film is as ugly to watch as its heart is. It’s unpleasantly edited and strangely confusing when it shouldn’t be. From any production standpoint, this is a flop. Since this was filmed in 15 days, it’s unsurprising that it doesn’t look very good, but you’d hope that the script could make up for any oversight in the production value — it doesn’t. The slice-of-life storytelling will not prepare you for the ridiculousness of the film’s ending. There’s a big twist that it ends up being almost admirably stupid. If you think this guy’s life couldn’t get worse, you’ll have your jaw on the floor, as Byington shows how much worse it can get. David Krumholtz is a very funny man, and it’s sad to see how few laughs this comedy gets. It’s a film that deeply misunderstands the real world and tries too hard to relate to a younger generation. Maybe it’s worth the watch, but if you’re in the mood for something funny, Lousy Carter might be too dry to elicit many laughs. Lousy Carter is now available on VOD. Rating: 2/5 |
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