The Rest of Your Life

I have a feeling that the makers of this movie confused authenticity with all the stuff I found embarrassing about it: the puerile view of adult life, an underdeveloped plot, acting worse than a high school drama club, and the gratuitous porn shot, just to name a few. I mean, perhaps there is something authentic there, but there is authenticity in a carbuncle too, and I don't want to look at one. There may be some "real" (albeit poorly acted) reactions in the movie, but they could only be realistic for an emotionally stunted prepubescent.

Granted, it has no ambitions of being an art film, but this movie does NO WORK. It isn't possible for someone with any life experience to come up with this story. There should be a law forbidding some people from making art, because the odd thing about this film was that no one in the production process seemed to recognize that it had no integrity.

I recently saw this movie at a small screening in Los Angeles and really enjoyed it. My friends had told me that it was really funny, very much in the vein of Clerks and other Kevin Smith romps. It was, but I didn't expect it to be so sweet and introspective at the same time.

The main characters in this movie aren't driven by sex, drugs, the need to misbehave, or even by some higher purpose. Instead, they just want to understand themselves and who they are in relation to their friends, lovers, and the rural suburbia around them. Without much work at all, they can live a relatively comfortable life, but they'll never know if they are really becoming the people they could be or should be.

In most movies with this kind of "coming of age" plot line, the heroes have an extremely clear goal - like they want to compete in the Olympics or something. In this one - much more realistic - the characters aren't sure what they want.

The biggest revelation is the performance by Brian Daniel Sharpe, who plays one of the lead characters and composed the music for the film. Not only is this guy star material (imagine Casey Affleck crossed with one of the Wilsons), but he's also a brilliant singer and musician.

After the movie was over, I was so bowled over by his songs - especially the main theme song of this movie, "Secret" - that I immediately went to itunes and bought his CD. His voice is great, his lyrics insightful, and I've been playing the disc over and over in my car.

I don't know where the record companies and Hollywood agents are hiding, but Brian Sharpe SHOULD be their next superstar.

I SAw this movie at the new york international film and video festival a few years ago. I almost completely forgot about it until a friend of mine last week started talking about how some girl tried to blackmail him into getting married. I grew up in Detroit, and me and my friends were just like the guys in this movie. I mean, we weren't as funny an d everything, but it really reminded me of the stuff we did or thought was funny.

It's too bad this doesn't look like it got any distribution. I'm at NYU now, and I know how hard it is to get films out there, but I think this won an award at the festival I saw it at. Its a little scary to think that if I make something as good, it might not ever get seen.

This movie is better than 95 percent of the romantic comedies produced by studios, mostly because it doesn't take place in Movie-Relationship Fantasyland. The characters have real reactions to the situation, and it makes watching the thing more satisfying. Dave McGuiness has a weekend to think over his girlfriend Karen's ultimatum: Tell me Monday if you want to get married. He's getting conflicting advice from his buddy Marv and brother Ben, and everyone else is congratulating him, thinking he's already engaged. Dave isn't sure: He loves Karen, but he doesn't know whether he's ready to settle down yet. I saw this movie at the AngelCiti festival in LA, and I should say that I know the director and writer. But I would've enjoyed it even if they were strangers. It's that good, and I hope some wise studio exec sees it and picks it up for distribution.