The paradigm has finally shifted and you won't be finding any beautiful--in a superficial surface sense--people here. They have been replaced, at last, by the talented people. Hollywood's no longer fashioned out of wood, insincere smiles, and GQish scientologists. Instead we get the great Bob Odenkirk with all of his charm and pathos. He's impossible not to like. His performance is tops here as he fights for his right to write...even if it's only greeting cards. Fine, lighthearted parallelisms are drawn to Chinatown. A touch of light & shadow noir illuminates the film. Whiplash witted one-liners slap you silly at just the right time. Not one but two actors with cleft appear -- Alex Karpovsky & Stacy Keach (it's good to see cleft-palated actors not named Joaquin Phoenix get some love; King Tut had one after all.) Slam poets get rightfully demystified as poetasters. As do novelists as writers who can't edit themselves. This is nothing if not a writer's kind of flick. Speaking, well, typing of, my only gripe is that Amber Tamblyn didn't get to read any of her highly inspired, original poetry. Really the only bummer here. If you dig Odenkirk, the written word, and a movie with a paucity of eye candy, then this one's for you.
