Judging by the cover of the UK DVD, quite a few respected (and not so respected) professional film critics got rather excited by this film on its cinematic release. I can only conclude that it either appeared in an extraordinarily lacklustre week, or that the screening's accompanying press kits came equipped with pre-loaded crack pipes.
This is a rom-com that features no rom and no com. It is essentially a film about a young couple walking and talking for ninety minutes, and it embodies all that is rotten about US indie cinema. None of its characters ring true for even one second, and they're all played broadly and nauseatingly by cocksure and vacant amateurs. Its observations about boy/girl relationships are all profoundly idiotic, and the complete dearth of imagination is most acutely signified by the two leads; boy is a struggling, misanthropic screenwriter; girl is an out-of-work actress, and kooky to the power of ten.
The worst scene involves a fundamentally pointless discussion about Frank Warren's ongoing community art project Postsecret. Completely bereft of wit, purpose or worthwhile perspective, its like overhearing two air-heads yapping in a pub, and would feel like padding if padding wasn't already the solitary order of the day.
The only amusing moments feature in the opening minute of the film, which is an unctuous montage featuring numerous young couples sucking face alongside a portentous voice-over. Rather than hire actual lovers to perform in these scenes, director Alex Holdridge inexplicably appears to have hired unacquainted actors instead. The boys go for it with genuine gusto, but the girls all appear rigid and borderline frightened; one lady in particular looks as if she's about to reach for her handbag so that she can mace her assailant in the face.
That sequence is about as funny, and real, as this imprudent dirge gets.
This is a rom-com that features no rom and no com. It is essentially a film about a young couple walking and talking for ninety minutes, and it embodies all that is rotten about US indie cinema. None of its characters ring true for even one second, and they're all played broadly and nauseatingly by cocksure and vacant amateurs. Its observations about boy/girl relationships are all profoundly idiotic, and the complete dearth of imagination is most acutely signified by the two leads; boy is a struggling, misanthropic screenwriter; girl is an out-of-work actress, and kooky to the power of ten.
The worst scene involves a fundamentally pointless discussion about Frank Warren's ongoing community art project Postsecret. Completely bereft of wit, purpose or worthwhile perspective, its like overhearing two air-heads yapping in a pub, and would feel like padding if padding wasn't already the solitary order of the day.
The only amusing moments feature in the opening minute of the film, which is an unctuous montage featuring numerous young couples sucking face alongside a portentous voice-over. Rather than hire actual lovers to perform in these scenes, director Alex Holdridge inexplicably appears to have hired unacquainted actors instead. The boys go for it with genuine gusto, but the girls all appear rigid and borderline frightened; one lady in particular looks as if she's about to reach for her handbag so that she can mace her assailant in the face.
That sequence is about as funny, and real, as this imprudent dirge gets.