Inadvertent Double Feature: Frankie Five-Angels

 

In a bit of random serendipity, we watched two movies at opposite ends of the cinematic spectrum back to back: "The Godfather: Part II" and 1980's "Alligator." Both featured the raspy-voiced character actor Michael V. Gazzo.

Gazzo portrayed the pivotal Corleone capo Frank Pentangeli (below, right), the would-be turncoat who testifies before a Senate committee seeking to bring down Michael Corleone in the "Godfather" sequel. Six years later he hammed it up in the cliched role of the beleaguered police chief trying to corral a rogue detective (played by Robert Forster) and save the town from a giant rampaging reptile. 

Gazzo fell back on a lot of TV work in the '70s and '80s before he died in 1994 at 71. I had no idea that he made his bones as a writer. In the 1950s, he wrote the play "Hatful of Rain," which was turned into a film a decade later, and the screenplay for Elvis Presley's "King Creole."

In the coming days, we will have reviews of both of the original "Godfather" movies and a double-feature tribute to Forster.

Men Behaving Badly

Inadvertent double feature! A pair of offbeat comedies that happen to feature Jess Weixler (from TV's "The Good Wife"):

THE DEATH OF DICK LONG (B) - A dark suburban twist on "The Hangover," this one from director Daniel Scheinert ("Swiss Army Man") and debut writer Billy Chew deals with the aftermath of three garage-band members partying too hard, leading to an unusual death among them. Married Zeke (Michael Abbott Jr.) and slacker Earl (Andre Hyland) bumble like they are in a cross between "Fargo" and "Pulp Fiction," and even the clueless investigation by the small town cops (led by Sarah Baker's Officer Dudley) can keep up with these two losers.

Strong performances keep this one afloat. Virginia Newcomb (who has a vibe that crosses Kristen Wiig with Sissy Spacek) plumbs depths as Zeke's frustrated wife, and Jess Weixler backs her up as Dick's clueless wife, who takes his disappearance as the sign of an affair rather than the obvious.

This takes a super-dark turn in the final reel, as not only is Dick's death particularly disturbing, but the filmmakers allows the other men to reveal their embrace of Dick's deviant behavior. It's a twist that might put you off, but you'll have to admit it's unique. And the comedy works. It's just a bit of an acquired taste all around.

SOMEBODY UP THERE LIKES ME (2012) (A-minus) - This quirky, absurdist deadpan comedy spans three decades in the lives of two improbable friends linked by a woman they both married. This valentine to Austin (akin to Noel Wells' "Mr. Roosevelt") comes from Bob Byington, who would go on to score with Jason Schwartzman in the similarly skewed "7 Chinese Brothers."

This time we get Max (Keith Poulson, a favorite of Byington's and director Alex Ross Perry, who makes a cameo here), an uninspired slug who befriends Sal, a fellow waiter at a local restaurant. Sal is played by Nick Offerman, always the reliable anchor in a film that craves gravitas to offset its effervescent mien. Even though "Somebody" clocks in at a trim 76 minutes, it spans 35 years, sprightly jumping five years at a time, where we see Max get married and divorced, followed by Sal marrying and divorcing the same woman, Lyla (a delightfully silly but sad Jess Weixler). The twist here is that, as it becomes fairly apparent early on, Max never seems to age while those around him do. Is that significant? Or is that just an eccentric accent to everything? Meantime, a deep male bond develops between Max and Sal, who eventually open their own eatery together.

Full of non sequiturs, the script has a casual feel to it, yet its precision is a wonder to behold. A solid supporting cast embraces the idiosyncrasies that pass through effortlessly. Indie legend Kevin Corrigan nails a cameo as a relationship malcontent. Stephanie Hunt is kittenish as the gum-snapping nanny whom Max can't resist. Offerman's wife Megan Mullally hides behind a wig and glasses as a laconic therapist. Marshall Bell is perfectly creepy as Lyla's father, a cop who shouldn't have as much money as he does. And Kate Lyn Sheil smolders and bookends the storyline as Max's placid ex-wife in a canary yellow dress. (There are many nods to Godard's color schemes throughout.)   

It's hard to capture the grounded goofiness of the proceedings, especially the stop-and-start banter. There is almost Groucho Marxist level wordplay, such as a malapropism-driven reference to the word avuncular. Here is a representative sample of the wry, disjointed dialogue of two characters following a funeral:

Sal: It seems weird that more people didn't turn out. I expected a turnout, a better turnout.
Lyle: Eh, you could have invited some people.
Sal: You don't invite people to a funeral; it's in the newspapers.
Lyle: Who reads newspapers?
Sal: The French! That's who. The French read the newspaper.
Lyle: You don't have to remind me. I went there once.
Sal: Everyone in France has a house that belonged to their parents.

Byington puts it all together elegantly, with an assist from cinematography by Sean Price Williams, interstitial animations by Bob Sabiston ("Waking Life"), and music from Albert Hammond Jr. of the Strokes. This one is a little gem.

BONUS TRACKS
Here's a pair from Hammond on the "Somebody" soundtrack. First, "In Transit":



And the lullaby "Cartoon Music for Super Heroes":



And Bob Schneider appears to sing a cover of the Cars' "Double Life" from "Candy-O":


 

Inadvertent Double Feature

We streamed two movies back-to-back, and they both improbably happened to feature Kevin Corrigan in the same role of video-store clerk. We last ran across Corrigan in "Supporting Characters":

WALKING AND TALKING (1996) (B+) - Nicole Holofcener's debut is awkward at times, like a colt finding its footing or a filmmaker finding her voice. But it's a winning take on the friendship of two women (Catherine Keener and Anne Heche) as they navigate their various romantic relationships while struggling to keep their own together.

This is the beta version of Holofcener's world of privileged but guilt-ridden middle-class white women (here, in a world of land-lines and answering machines as plot devices) struggling to find fulfillment in a satisfying career and with a spouse who can keep up. Keener looks so young; her eyes sparkle, and that quirky behavior and offbeat delivery are in full flower. Their supporting men, including Corrigan and Liev Schreiber, bring a fresh perspective and some dimension to the romantic-comedy genre.

You might wince a few times at the self-indulgence (there's a very sick cat, and not a little wallowing by Keener's character), but Holofcener builds nicely to a satisfying conclusion.

Here's our recent review of Holofcener's latest, "Enough Said."

THE FUNERAL KINGS (B) - I thought it would get tiring to watch 14-year-olds swearing like sailors and playing with guns, but I was charmed by this coming-of-age saga of Catholic school boys trying to run with the older crowd. It helps that brothers Kevin and Mathew McManus wrap this up in a tidy 85 minutes.

This played like a riff on "Stand by Me" by way of John Hughes or John Powers. Nonetheless, this umpteenth version of growing up Irish Catholic has a steady charm, and the McManus boys know how to pace a story. Youngsters Dylan Hartigan and Alex Maizus hold their own as suburban adolescent gangsta-wannabes, and Jordan Puzzo is a fine counterweight as the more reserved blond-haired cute kid they drag along into their escapades, which spin off from the free passes they are granted in order to serve as altar boys at funerals.

There's a bit of a nostalgic "Peanuts" quality here, because the boys' parents are mostly unseen. The pivoting story of one of the boys' brothers feels undercooked. But the foul-mouthed little bastards make up for any deficiencies with their determination to out-Moe-Howard each other.

Inadvertent Double Feature*

The ever-reliable Philip Baker Hall shows up in his patented supporting role in two movies watched in the past few days: 

CLEAR HISTORY (B+) - Larry David and his stable of writers serve up what is essentially an extended episode of his shtick from "Seinfeld" and "Curb Your Enthusiasm" (the man knows his niche), with an entertaining narrative that holds up over its feature length.

David plays Nathan Flomm (presented without glasses and with a hippie's shoulder length hair and a beard), a cranky PR specialist for a fledgling electric-car company run by Will Haney (the dependable John Hamm), who is naming the car after his son, Howard (a quaint tribute to Edsel Ford?). They have a falling out, and Flomm quits, tries to reconsider, but then is ousted, losing his stake in the company. The car becomes a hit, and Flomm loses out on a billion dollars.

Crushed, Nathan disappears to Martha's Vineyard, and when we see him 10 years later, he finally looks like Larry David, unrecognizable to those who knew the tragic Flomm story. There, as Rolly DaVore, he falls in with a great group of friends and poker pals, played by some fine character actors, including a restrained Danny McBride, Lenny Clarke and bawdy filmmaker Peter Farrelly. Soon Haney shows up, having bought the island's biggest estate, which he begins to turn into a garish monstrosity, to the horror of the locals.

The film is essentially the story of Rolly seeking to exact revenge on the man who cost him a billion dollars. Once the narrative is established, the story unfolds smoothly, propelled by a stellar cast. Amy Ryan (our favorite from "Win Win") plays Rolly's waitress ex-girlfriend and the butt of a very funny running joke about whether she, 20 years earlier as a young woman, went backstage at a concert by the group Chicago and serviced a bunch of the band members (or "Chicagoans" in David's vernacular). Philip Baker Hall is the contractor overseeing the mansion's remodel; he owes a favor to Rolly, giving Rolly access to the place. Rolly then meets and tries to seduce Haney's wife, played by Kate Hudson, who is likeable for the first time ever. Rolly conspires with the island's eccentric, Joe Stumpo (a manic Michael Keaton); Stumpo and his crazy sidekick (Bill Hader) like to blow stuff up (a quaint nod to "SCTV"?). Keaton hams it up like his old self.

The list goes on. J.B. Smoove is back to show off that awkward chemistry he has with David. Eva Mendes plays an ex-fatty whose engagement is sabotaged by Rolly. Liev Schrieber has a memorable turn as Tibor, an ignition salesman from Chechnya.

David finds a fine balance between traditional feature-film storytelling and sitcom farce. He tosses in his patented quirks (annoyance at electrical outlets not being reachable, a fender bender resulting from confusion over a wave goodbye versus a "go ahead" wave). He still has an ear for one-liners (when Rolly storms off after (re)meeting Haney, one of the poker pals shrugs and explains, "His ex-girlfriend blew Chicago"). He uses classic Chicago hits to good effect.

David has assembled his go-to writers and a diverse cast of actors who all dive in head first, seemingly like they had a blast. It has the air of a throwaway project, with a cozy familiarity that goes down smooth. 

BAD WORDS (B) - Make no mistake: This is not a fully realized film. Instead, it's a platform for Jason Bateman to create a memorable comic character and run wild with it.

Bateman is often hilarious, in his understated way, as a 40-year-old who finds a loophole in the rules (he never completed eighth grade) and crashes the annual junior high spelling bee. Bateman plays Guy Trilby, a bitter man on the brink of middle age who has personal reasons for wanting to sabotage the annual spelling contest.

He is not shy about psychologically attacking any of the pre-teen challengers who get in his way. He quickly falls in with perky Chaitanya Chopra (a delightful, bright-eyed Rohan Chand), whose infectious bubbliness ("What's your favorite word, Guy?!") at first annoys Guy but then melts his icy heart. When Chaitanya insists that not all women have nipples, Guy pays a prostitute $10 to flash the awestruck boy for a ten-count.

Guy doesn't have a filter, so he doesn't edit out his foul language, no matter whom he's addressing -- kids, parents, tournament officials. In some ways, this is an extended acting exercise for Bateman. And from his childlike crewcut to his bug-eyed mugging, he disappears into the character. He has fun behaving badly.

Of course, there's a plot needed, and the writers manage to construct something out of cardboard. There's not much to suspense, but the final showdown is clever, and Bateman and Chopra have wonderful chemistry to the very end.

The supporting cast is strong. Baker Hall is the dictatorial founder of the tournament who does color commentary on the telecast. Allison Janney, in an unflattering old-maid wig, is the stuffy head of the tournament who vows to stop Trilby. In a subtle running gag, she badgers the proctor over his pronunciations and diction, even though he seems to speak perfectly fine. Kathryn Hahn is delightful as the blogger who sponsors Trilby and who is physically addicted to him. (Their goofy sex scenes are amusing.) Rachael Harris ("Natural Selection," "The Hangover") makes the most of a minor role as the flustered parent of a contestant.

The production values are a bit sketchy, but Bateman and Chopra are so entertaining that you don't mind. "Bad Words" satisfies as an 89-minute guilty pleasure.

 * - An occasional series. See a previous entry here.

One Liners: Quiet Rebellions

A QUIET PASSION (B) - Terence Davies bounces back from the interminably dreary "Sunset Song" for this dour but powerful biography of poet Emily Dickinson, starring Cynthia Nixon in a role she seems to have been born to play.

Davies crafts a gorgeous period piece, delicate and moving throughout. Nixon rattles everything around her as the rebellious poet and social dissident, with a firm assist from Jennifer Ehle as Emily's sister, Vinnie, and Catherine Bailey as their free-spirited friend.

Events unfold at a glacial pace, but so elegantly and passionately that it holds your attention for a full two hours. The lighting is often dim, and rooms claustrophobic, no surprise coming from Davies, the hand behind "Distant Voices, Still Lives" and "The Deep Blue Sea."

Nothing that he throws at Nixon is too much for her to handle. Even her suffering from Bright's Disease somehow rises above standard TV Movie of the Week fare. Meantime, Dickinson's poetry -- along with her quirky style (involving many dashes) -- are celebrated with on-screen graphics and reverent narration. (Right up to the inevitable "Because I could not stop for death ...")

"A Quiet Passion" is a slow-burning family drama, with a rare sighting of Keith Carradine as the stern patriarch. It is a powerful and enduring character study.

LITTLE MEN (B-minus) - A sober but occasionally twee little comic drama pits two families in a business dispute, with the two adolescent sons

From the Ira Sachs earnestness factory -- see also "Keep the Lights On" and "Love Is Strange" -- comes this low-key slice of life about small businesses and class distinctions. The Jardine family, led by Brian (Greg Kinnear), owns a building in Brooklyn that houses a mom-and-pop (without the pop) tailor shop run by Leonor Cavelli (eminent Chilean actress Paulina Garcia), who has a son, Tony, who has a strong Brooklyn accent and dreams of being an actor someday. When his father dies, Brian assumes control of the building and discovers that his dad had been letting Leonor slide on ridiculously low rent for years, something Brian intends to rectify in the now-hip neighborhood.

Tony befriends the Jardines' son, the sensitive budding artist Jake (Theo Taplitz), setting up a generational battle between the wise-beyond-their-years boys and the squabbling adults locked in a gentrification showdown. Expect the boys to teach the adults a lesson or two in human kindness.

Sachs fusses over his characters and their dialogue with mixed results; at times he finds some fundamental truths while occasionally coming off as stagy. (It doesn't help that Brian is a local theater director.) Like "Love Is Strange," this one can be a little too tidy at times, and its impact fades fairly quickly. This is another solidly entertaining slice of life.

With Jennifer Ehle, mostly in the background as the loyal wife, making this an inadvertent double feature.

Inadvertent Double Feature: America's Sweetheart

A pair of Anna Kendrick movies on the holiday, from different ends of the cinema spectrum, hipster indie to Disney musical:

HAPPY CHRISTMAS (B-minus) -  An interesting but ultimately pointless exercise in holiday gloom from love-hate director Joe Swanberg.

He assembles three very talented women -- Anna Kendrick, Melanie Lynskey and Lena Dunham -- for some first-rate riffing on romance and marriage. Kendrick plays Jenny, a twenty-something dealing with a breakup who shows up at the Chicago home of her brother Jeff (Swanberg) and his Aussie wife Kelly (Lynskey) and their toddler, immediately stirring up trouble with her erratic behavior and binge drinking.

Dunham is Carson, Jenny's loquacious pal. Early on, they share a drink with Kelly, drawing out of her some ennui and frustration over having given up life as a novelist to have a child. The three women have a few very good scenes together -- including brainstorming the plot of a cheap romance novel -- and their banter features some quality indie improv. Kendrick is fine, as usual, but Swanberg gives her only one note to play (and an annoying Valley Girl patois). Lynskey, much better in 2012's "Hello, I Must Be Going," looks lost most of the time. Dunham again proves she's the nimble comic mind behind "Girls."

The story, however, goes nowhere. Swanberg stretches our patience by repeatedly featuring cutesy scenes with his real-life child -- at the risk of turning this into an unbearable home movie. This had all the ingredients of a quiet gem -- and there are some fine moments to be found in these 82 minutes -- but it ends up being a disappointment.

INTO THE WOODS (C-minus) - If you want to see a good musical (and we're rarely in the mood), find one with memorable music. This fairy-tale cocktail drones too often and never soars like a movie musical should.

Our annual Christmas Day Mainstream Movie gave us two hours of visual delights and a few sharp performances, but as a story -- merging Little Red Riding Hood, Jack and the Beanstalk, Cinderella and Rapunzel in a forest setting with a wicked witch -- this Broadway adaptation is a mess.

Ms. Kendrick acquits herself well as Cinderella the Bird Lady, playing coy with a dolt of a prince, a wry turn from Chris Pine. Emily Blunt is surprisingly strong (and in wonderful voice) as the Baker's Wife, seeking to lift the witch's curse so they can have a baby. Newcomer Lilla Crawford holds her own with the adults as Red Riding Hood. Others tend to be distractions: Johnny Depp is silly as the Big Bad Wolf; Christine Baranski is miscast as Cinderella's step-mother; Meryl Streep is out of control as the Witch.

James Lapine adapted his own musical. "Chicago's" Rob Marshall directs. Few of us will be singing or humming these tunes in the coming days. I had a good 10-minute nap halfway through, which helped me survive the spectacle. Those who witnessed the whole thing were not as lucky. 

BONUS TRACK
Swanberg assembled a soundtrack with a retro sound, including this one from Swede Joel Alme:

Inadvertent Double Feature: A Little Italy

Back-to-back in the same evening, we experienced the delights of Italy. The first was a documentary about Gore Vidal (the American exile in Ravello), and the second was Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon's follow-up to "The Trip," immersed in the Italian countryside where, improbably, Brydon does something I'd never seen before: an impression of Gore Vidal.

THE TRIP TO ITALY (B) - If you like Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon and their shtick, then this sequel to "The Trip" will go down easy. If not, you might squirm a bit. Here, the cheeky Brits gambol about the Italian countryside, endlessly tossing out clever impressions, while dining at five-star restaurants.

Coogan is eminently watchable, and Brydon is a capable foil. They settle in quickly, puttering around God's green acres in a Mini Cooper (probably for "The Italian Job" joke) while listening (and singing along) to vintage Alanis Morissette.

The scenery is breathtaking and the food is to die for, and those distractions certainly help take your mind off the fact that we've been here before or that director Michael Winterbottom isn't as jazzed about the narrative the second time around. As in the first film, Winterbottom broadly sketches a back story for each man. This time Brydon is the unfaithful one (with little apparent consequence), while Coogan conducts a dull and inscrutable long-distance squabble with his pissy 16-year-old son, an utterly confounding exercise. Meantime, the men brood about their own mortality, sniffing along the trail of the great poets Byron and Shelley and visiting tourist sites like the ruins of Pompeii (probably for the "little guy in a box" joke).

But we're here for the banter. And it's often a hoot. (Middle-aged men will be boys, after all.) The Michael Caine impression makes a cameo. Just about all the James Bonds get a quick gloss. Brydon's fall-back impression here is Al Pacino, and frankly, it's not a very good one, no matter how often he tries. His improbable Gore Vidal impression is much stronger. Winterbottom sits back and lets the improvisational comedy find a target, and then he moves on.

This truly is like a delectable meal -- you savor it while it lasts, and eventually it just passes through you.

GORE VIDAL: UNITED STATES OF AMNESIA (B) -  And if you can stand Gore Vidal for 90 minutes, this is a workmanlike overview of his career and political philosophy.

The first half drags too often and is focused too much on Vidal's personal life. The second half finally delves into his role as the conscience of America.

This world-class insufferable elitist intellectual duels with William Buckley in classic 1960s TV clips. (Where Buckley infamously smeared Vidal as a "queer" and threatened to punch him in the nose.) He anoints Christopher Hitchens (seen here hairless not long before his death) as his ideological heir before dispatching Hitchens unceremoniously over the latter's support for the Iraq War. (We see them at their final public gathering together, an awkward parting.)

Vidal is refreshingly blunt in his measured assessment of American history (and its exceptionalism and imperialism). He expertly busts the myth of Camelot, referring to his old pal Jack Kennedy as the worst president we've ever had, a leader who accomplished little and who sent the first batch of ground troops to Vietnam.

This all zips along in tick-tock fashion. Like in "Life Itself," we're exposed to too much footage of an old man in a wheelchair staring death in the face. (The opening and closing scenes take place at a cemetery.) But the old footage is oddly comforting, and Vidal makes compelling company throughout.

BONUS TRACK
Speaking of Alanis Morissette:

Jolly Old England

Two titles from a few years back, looking way back:

THE KING'S SPEECH (2010) (A-minus) - I missed this buzzworthy title on its original release, and you certainly don't need my full review. The film has a job to do and does it well. Colin Firth is fine as the stuttering King George VI who must overcome his disability in order to lead his country as an assuring figurehead during World War II.

The real star, though is Geoffrey Rush as Lionel Logue, the speech therapist and frustrated thespian. That long weathered face of his speaks volumes, and it seems as though Firth struggles a bit to keep up with Rush. At times, their dialogue crackles, such as when Logue tells his royal client that he shouldn't smoke:

King: My physicians say it relaxes the throat.
Logue: They're idiots.
King: They've all been knighted.
Logue: Makes it official, then.

It's also fun to see acting legends Michael Gambon ("The Singing Detective") and Derek Jacobi ("I, Claudius") in supporting roles. My criticisms are minor: The script can get clunky when characters are required to recite short history lessons in order to move the plot along. And the overall story as presented here is just a wee bit precious, with a BBC/PBS sheen. Finally, it's hard at times to feel that there's all that much at stake for the royal family or the nation. It's to Firth's credit that he makes us care about one man's personal struggle.  

THE DEEP BLUE SEA (2011) (A-minus) - This was a re-viewing of one of our favorites from recent years. Rachel Weisz is brilliant as Hester Collyer, a postwar British woman trapped in both a loveless marriage and an unsatisfying affair with a good-time charlie. Terence Davies ("Distant Voices, Still Lives") lends his mystical, nostalgic touch to a somber play by Terence Rattigan ("The Winslow Boy").

The film opens on Hester's failed suicide attempt and then fills in her backstory from the war years. She's a modern woman living in a pummeled society that is clinging to its traditions as it struggles to recover from the horrors of war. She aches with desire and seems doomed to live an unfulfilled existence.

Davies coats the story in amber, and he expertly captures a transitional era. Several times, like in "Distant Voices," he treats us to the sights and sounds of a bar full of patrons conducting a sing-along. In one instance, their version of "You Belong to Me" segues into Jo Stafford's classic version. Like that song, this compact drama is a perfect mix of sorrow and bliss.

NOTE: I was tempted last weekend to present our second Inadvertent Double Feature, because THIS TV, the next night, was coincidentally airing "Deep Blue Sea," a Renny Harlin underwater thriller starring Samuel L. Jackson from 1999, but I couldn't get past the opening scene of a shark attack on bikini-clad coeds, and I was haunted by the thought of endless commercials about life alerts and reverse mortgages.

Inadvertent Double Feature: Aubrey Plaza

A pair from the talented comic actress Aubrey Plaza, one surprisingly dark, the other rowdy as hell:

INGRID GOES WEST (B) - What starts out as a light-hearted romp poking fun at social media addicts turns dark in the third act, without necessarily landing on either side of the argument about millennials and their damn phones.

Aubrey Plaza is manic as the title gal who gets institutionalized for a while after going postal on her Instagram idol (for not inviting Ingrid to her wedding) and then reinvents herself in Los Angeles, setting her sights on a new victim, Taylor Sloane (Elizabeth Olsen), a vapid photographer and solipsistic social media maven. Ingrid is funded by about $60,000 in cash from the estate of her mother, whose apparent slow, painful death has scarred Ingrid and left her as socially and emotionally bereft as a junkie.

This debut by millennial writer-director Matt Spicer never loses its jolt of energy, but it's a bit sloppy as it throws its shares of errant punches in trying to make a major statement about the way we live today. (It's as if the younger generation is having trouble focusing!) Despite its limitations, "Ingrid" is never less than entertaining and driven toward an inevitable messy ending.

Plaza -- every comedy bro's favorite platonic best pal, exemplified in 2009's "Funny People" -- dives into her role as fangirl-slash-stalker. She has way more verve than one screen can hold, and she handles physical comedy well, using more than just those big expressive eyes of hers. Olsen, the ultimate entitled white girl, slips into Taylor's skin neatly, without turning Taylor into more of a cartoon than she needs to be.

The secret weapon here is O'Shea Jackson, Ice Cube's son who played the rap star in his movie debut "Straight Outta Compton"). He is a natural, dynamic presence whose smile lights up a screen. He plays Dan, a Batman-obsessed wannabe screenwriter who, when he isn't selling drugs, manages the apartment complex where Ingrid holes up. The flirtations and frustrations between Dan and Ingrid are beyond charming, serving to balance out the savage snark permeating the rest of the film. That negative energy is best exemplified by Billy Magnussen as Taylor's menacing, cocaine-fueled brother, Nicky. Magnussen sweeps through the proceedings like white privilege on PCP, and the climactic showdown between Nicky and Ingrid catches poor, lovable Dan in the cross-fire. Feelings are hurt, lessons are learned, texts go unreturned. (Watch Ingrid's face fall when she sees the three dots indicating Dan is responding only to have the dots disappear.)

The final shot proves that Spicer has little hope for the future of the Kardashian generation, suggesting that there are no true happy endings but merely the enticing possibility of a reality-show sequel.

THE LITTLE HOURS (B+) - This Pythonesque romp never tries to be more than what it sets out to be: a ribald showcase for some very funny people riffing on grueling life in the 14th century.

Plaza, Alison Brie (TV's "Mad Men" and "Community"), and Kate Micucci ("Don't Think Twice") play a trio of randy nuns chafing under the soul-deadening oppression of an isolated convent. The story is inspired by The Decameron, Giovani Boccoccio's medieval-era series of stories set in the countryside outside Florence in the time of the black plague.

A brilliant cast has a rollicking time riffing on olden times in a carefree way not seen since "Monty Python and the Holy Grail." John C. Reilly is perfectly goofy and a bit rueful as Father Tommasso, the priest in charge of the convent, who, like prelates of that time, acts like more of a mobster than a man of the cloth -- dipping into the sacramental wine, telling lies, and bedding the head nun, Sister Marea (a subdued Molly Shannon). He is sweet and lovable, though, and he has no control of his flock.

Beautiful Allessandra (Brie) feels like a prisoner of her parents, who send money to the convent and deny her desires to be married off, essentially because they can't afford a dowry. (Paul Reiser has a blast in a cameo as her father, dashing her dreams in one simple conversation.) Plaza's Fernanda is a hellion, drawing Macucci's Ginerva into trouble on a daily basis. Brie finds a neat groove as the yearning maiden cross-stitching her life away. Plaza and Micucci have wonderfully expressive eyes -- the former mostly shooting daggers and the latter more broadly comic, along the lines of Marty Feldman in "Young Frankenstein."

Dave Franco offers up his typical clueless stoner persona as Massetto, the common serf who escapes from a nobleman after getting caught bedding the lord's wife and lands a new laborer gig at the convent -- from the frying pan into the fire. Nick Offerman is hilarious as Lord Bruno, a vulgar petit-bourgeois conspiracy theorist who harps on the decline of civilization like a Chicken Little Trump supporter, hyper-aware of ethnicities and obsessed with "Game of Thrones"-like regional political intrigue. In one of his funniest deadpan lines, he warns his kittenish wife (Lauren Weedman) that their lavish lifestyle (eating rabbit and lentils) might end any day with an invasion of pope-loving Guelphs; enjoy the "luxury" now, he intones, before they are reduced to "eating chicken, like a bunch of fucking Croatians."

The hunky Massetto is catnip to the horny maidens at the convent, who abuse him like a stable mule for their carnal pleasure. Franco ("21 Jump Street," "Neighbors") thrives in awkward situations, and here he is tortured, alternately, by threats of sheer medieval harm and by female lust, a flesh-and-blood version of the comedy/tragedy masks. Jemima Kirke (HBO's "Girls") shows up (off-key, as usual) to raise the stakes and lure the gals into bouts of drinking, lesbianism, drug use and sorcery.

The gals are bawdy as all get-out, but the silliness hits its peak when Fred Armisen shows up as Bishop Bartolomeo, who has seen his share of crude behavior but never the likes of the litany of sins he must sort out with this crew. Armisen is automatically funny, and here he is as much straight man among the surreal antics rather than the guy with the lampshade on his head.

Writer-director Jeff Baena ("Joshy," "I Heart Huckabees") creates a controlled chaos, a heady mix of the modern and medieval. (He even manages some genuinely tender moments at the end.) He gets in and out in 90 minutes, strategically spacing out the gut-busting one-liners. He juggles a big cast, parceling out the goodies judiciously so that the all-star players gel into a cohesive whole.