In Clea DuVall’s wildly entertaining directorial debut The Intervention, a group of friends decide to stage an intervention during a weekend getaway. Comprised of a stellar cast ranging from indie darlings to comedic masterminds—including Melanie Lynskey, Cobie Smulders, Ben Schwartz and Alia Shawkat, among others—the film finds the right balance of lightweight comedy and emotional drama. The Intervention is a modern take on the heavily inspired The Big Chill, while incorporating similar elements from recent indies like Drinking Buddies and The Overnight.

Performing an intervention is much more difficult than it sounds, something the friends in The Intervention soon realize. While en route to the getaway house, each couple gets introduced in a comical way; after browsing wedding invite designs and noticing her husband (Jason Ritter) is sleeping next to her on the plane, Annie (Lynskey) asks the flight stewardess for some hard liquor; a lesbian couple (Natasha Lyonne and DuVall) must deal with a flirty male rental car hitting on them; and Jack (Schwartz) shows up with his free-spirited 22-year-old girlfriend Lola (Shawkat). The group plans to collectively tell their friend Ruby (Smulders) that they don’t think she’s a good fit for her self-absorbed prick of a husband Peter (Vincent Piazza).

Just as they’re about to give their “marriage intervention,” each couple begins to realize that their own relationships are flawed. And as incidents unfold, you begin to wonder if these people are in any position to pass judgment onto others. With the help from a talented cast, The Intervention is loaded with hilarious situations and dramatic exchanges. Excelling in performances, dialog, and narrative, the film is a must-see indie gem.

Rating:
8/10

What would happen to humanity if everyone lost their ability to retain memories? That’s one of the questions Claire Carré explores with her debut feature Embers, which drops viewers into a world 10 years after a disease infects everyone with short-term and long-term memory loss. Carré splits her film up into five narrative strands, each one examining how an aspect intrinsic to our existence changes within her own dystopian vision; a couple (Jason Ritter & Iva Gocheva) wake up every day trying to remember how they know each other; a former intellectual (Tucker Smallwood) tries different ways to learn again so he can find a cure; a boy (Silvan Friedman) with no parents wanders around trying to survive on his own; a young man (Karl Glusman, credited as Chaos) filled with rage attacks everyone he encounters; and the young girl Miranda (Greta Fernandez) lives in an underground bunker with her father (Roberto Cots), safe from the disease but cut off from the world.

On the surface, Carré’s film looks like standard post-apocalyptic fare, but its tone is anything but. Shooting in Indiana, New York and Poland, Embers casts its urban decay in a bland, grey hue that should bring to mind Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, except Carré doesn’t provide her film with the same bleakness and nihilism. With no one connected to their past, the strong emotions connected to memories don’t exist anymore, leaving characters to constantly live in the moment in a somewhat peaceful state. The only exception to this is Chaos, whose violent acts take on a new meaning given they’re instinctual and without consequence. The somewhat tranquil mood amidst a dying world makes for a fascinating juxtaposition, allowing Carré the ability to weave in emotional and philosophical questions about identity and the human condition.

With a short runtime and several disconnected storylines, Embers only disappoints with its inability to coalesce on a thematic level (most segments just end abruptly). The only exception is Miranda’s storyline, as her near-decade of isolation makes her consider leaving the bunker to go live in the real world. Her father begs her not to go, telling her that once she’s infected she’ll lose everything that makes her who she is. For Miranda, it’s a complicated situation that directly addresses Carré’s question at the heart of the film, over whether or not memory is the source of our own individuality.

Now more than ever, it seems as though the general public sympathizes with those forced to commit criminal acts in order to provide for their families. With the current economic climate in the United States, people who would otherwise live their lives on the straight and narrow now seem more inclined to turn towards illegal activity in order to pay their bills. As a result, we as a society seem more likely to connect with characters who, despite being generally good people, find themselves in shady situations. Thus is the case with Jay Martin’s 7 Minutes, a typical “heist gone wrong” film that, for better or worse, focuses more on the events leading up to a robbery than the actual robbery itself.

After being laid off from his job, Sam (Luke Mitchell) grows desperate to make enough money to provide for his girlfriend Kate (Leven Rambin) and their unborn child. His brother Mike (Jason Ritter) suggests getting into the drug dealing business with him. Along with their friend Owen (Zane Holtz), the brothers begin peddling weed and ecstasy. But when a deal goes wrong, the trio is forced to recoup the lost money or face serious consequences at the hands of a drug kingpin. With no other choices in sight, they decide to rob their local bank, and as is generally the case with untrained criminals, things don’t go quite as planned.

As more and more characters enter into the situation, the film flashes back to the events that led to everyone becoming involved in the heist. While the bank robbery lasts only seven minutes (hence the title), the flashback sequences comprise a majority of the film’s running time. A bumbling police officer, a scumbag thief, and a shady businessman all end up inside the bank during the heist, resulting in Sam, Mike, and Owen losing complete control of the situation.

You’ve seen 7 Minutes before. It follows the same blueprint as a number of similar crime thrillers, but does so well enough to constitute a viewing for fans of such genre films. Stylistically, the film is like a strange mixture of Bad Turn Worse (another Starz release) and the opening and closing sequences of Pulp Fiction. Martin utilizes a delightfully southern, small town vibe throughout the film, and the idea that everybody knows everybody comes into play on more than one occasion.

Performances are solid across the board, with Leven Rambin stealing the show every time she appears onscreen. Mitchell, Ritter, and Holtz play off each other very well as the “looks, brains, and muscle,” respectively. Joel Murray and the legendary Kris Kristofferson appear in minor roles, though they are both relatively underused. As an ensemble, though, the characters genuinely feel like members of a small community with some serious issues.

The only glaring issue with 7 Minutes is the considerable amount of fluff in the flashback sequences. In the midst of a high-action scene, nothing grinds down on an audience’s attention span like cutting to a low-energy, dialogue heavy flashback. Martin’s reasoning for this is admirable. He clearly wants viewers to connect with the characters as much as possible, but the pacing just isn’t quite there because of the inconvenient timing of the flashbacks. The time jumps only answer questions no one would bother asking, making their presence feel irrelevant.

It definitely doesn’t reinvent the wheel when it comes to heist thrillers, but 7 Minutes is a fun romp for film fans who just can’t get enough of watching bumbling criminals struggle to successfully commit a crime. Experienced filmgoers will be able to predict this one from a mile away, and sure, quite a few movies with a similar plot have come along in recent memory, but 7 Minutes manages to be enjoyable despite its issues. If you think you’ll have a good time with this one, you’re probably going to have a good time.

With its peep-hole iris shots, funky opening credits complete with Bond-esque graphics, including handguns and money falling, not to mention its soundtrack of hi-hat cymbals, flirty flute, and plenty of bass line, Wild Canaries isn’t an altogether complicated whodunit, but it’s bursting with charisma. Getting the obvious allusions out of the way, Columbo and Woody Allen, Wild Canaries manages to be an engaging mystery even while its characters wade through their growing neuroses and discontent. If director, writer, and star Lawrence Michael Levine manages to misstep anywhere it’s in the loss of momentum as the characters play more and more into expectations. Tacking on a screwball and self-aware ending with plenty of heart makes up for these minor shortcomings almost in full, with only a few questions remaining.

The mystery is this: newly engaged couple Barri (Sophia Takal) and Noah (Levine) live in a typical NYC walk-up and are relatively close with their neighbors, one being their gambling, drinking, partying artist landlord Damien (Jason Ritter) and another being elderly rent-controlled Sylvia. Barri walks into Sylvia’s apartment one day to find the woman dead on the floor. There is no sign of foul play, no real reason to suspect anything fishy happening, except that Sylvia’s son Anthony (Kevin Corrigan) immediately starts selling off her furniture.

Barrie is a whimsical, intrepid type, devising a million dollar business plan with her best friend and roommate Jean (Alia Shawkat) while currently unemployed. Her imaginative brain almost immediately suspects Anthony of foul play. Noah is beyond skeptical, annoyed even at Barri’s rising insistence. After breaking into his apartment and finding both a life insurance policy document and a foreclosure notice on one of his properties in Florida, Barri has all the motive she needs to don a trench coat, oversized glasses and a floppy hat to start following Anthony around. Enabled by Jean, the two stake him out, while Noah, who is annoyed by this distraction for Barri’s attention and by the increased closeness between Jean and Barri starts to sidle up to his co-worker and ex-girlfriend Eleanor (Annie Parisse). Strange behavior on both Barri and Noah’s account considering both women are gay.

Things twist further when Barri and Jean discover Anthony is doing his own stalking, following Damien around as he argues with his ex-wife. As Barri’s theories on how everyone is involved in the conspiracy of Sylvia’s death grow, the crack in her and Noah’s relationship also widens. Success in her and Jean’s business endeavors leads to further closeness between them while Noah invites Eleanor to move into their apartment while in the midst of a break-up.

Filled with comical moments of amateur sleuthing, and the growing pain in Noah’s neck immobilizing him more and more simultaneously making him a hilarious sidekick in Barri’s efforts and providing an interesting metaphor in the progression of their relationship. The story unravels easily enough, each new layer getting intriguingly more intricate, but not nearly as convoluted as even an episode of Scooby-Doo. Meanwhile, the characters begin to act a little too accordingly and by the time they reach the end it seems unclear who we ought to be rooting for and where these people ought to end up. Luckily Levine brings it back together recognizing the emotional surge of an action-filled payoff.

Wild Canaries is filled to the brim with a retro sense of style and format, sensibilities perfectly at home with the age and hipster lifestyles of its characters. The film’s music is just slightly too noticeable, an artistic choice that plays on the hyperbolic imagination of Barri while adding tension where there isn’t anything visibly provoking happening. It’s fun, but could potentially turn off some viewers unable to grapple with the levels of ridiculousness.

Those able to forget about more modern plugged-in  Sherlock-esque influences will appreciate the whimsy and character-driven plot. But any needing even the slightest bit more logic in how Barri and Noah fit together as a couple may find their constant fighting hard to swallow. Not to mention their incompetencies in snooping and generally impulsive tendencies. Takal plays Barri with a believable cuteness but she can’t quite pull-off Barri’s lacking motivations which seem to be entirely around “being a good person.”

As a relationship drama set in the midst of a throwback genre-film, Wild Canaries innovates. As a murder mystery, it’s fun, though not thrilling. Mostly Wild Canaries is entertaining, and because of its relationship distractions, the mystery doesn’t need to be especially clever, and because of the mystery the relationships don’t all scream for tons of realistic sense. Buying in and letting go is the best way to appreciate Wild Canaries. And if you can, you’ll find an indie darling that still manages to pack in more gumption in its dual themes than most single-sided indie films these days.

About Alex is very much a film of its time. For starters, the film is occasionally hyper-aware, in the Chris Miller-Phil Lord vein, of its architecture as a film imbued with tropes. The film also feels like a clichéd indie where characters gather together and reveal secrets and grievances. But what truly makes About Alex a film of its moment is its intense but clumsy interest in the way recent cultural changes such as the Internet and social media have altered relationships of Millennials.

As noted through casual meta-jokes, About Alex is essentially The Big Chill for a new era: a group of college friends spend a weekend together rehashing the past after one of their own attempts suicide. The meta-ness ends at the passing references to the film’s familiarity though (“This is like one of those ’80s movies,” one person says at one point). From there on out, About Alex falls into the traps associated with its subgenre. Jesse Zwick’s script (Zwick also directed) is laboriously constructed to the point where the summer home the gang goes to feels like it has more personality and well-worn history.

Alex (Jason Ritter) has fallen out of touch with his friends, and it has heightened his depression, causing him to attempt suicide. In a lifeless montage, his old friends receive the news. Journalist Ben has failed to write a book and dodging Alex’s calls. Ben is dating Siri (Maggie Grace; yes, there are, indeed, iPhone jokes made), who fears she might be late. Overworked lawyer Sarah (Aubrey Plaza) still can’t resist the douchey charms of brash PhD candidate and resident truth teller Josh (Max Greenfield, in the meatiest and funniest role). However, Sarah secretly still pines for straight shooting financier Isaac, who brings along a much younger plus one (Jane Levy) to the event.

This is a lot of information to set up but as overwrought as it is, Zwick does a good job of managing it fleetly and quickly. After its belabored introduction, the film settles into a more comfortable, but still far too affected, rhythm. About Alex feels worked over, and this strains its ability to feel natural and lived in. The conflicts are seen from a mile off, and they tend to resolve themselves exactly as one might expect them to – writer’s block ends, quarreling couples make up, etc. At a certain point, the revelations stop feeling like revelations and begin to feel like carefully doled out dramatic beats. As if what the film was trying to say were not spelled out clearly enough, Ben provides a voice-over in two separate instances to lay out the film’s themes and messages. The blandness and familiarity of the story is matched with a drab cinematographic scheme, shot by Andre Lascaris. Lascaris emphasizes muted, autumnal colors, which only adds to the film’s sense of lifelessness.

And yet, when the action lacks a feeling for spontaneity or the dialogue begins to sound too much like dialogue (as it all too often does), the film is saved by its likable, strong cast. The film gives the faintest impressions of why these individuals would have become friends and why they would enjoy one another’s company. In its best moments, the film nicely provides us with the desire to hang out with these people, to get drunk and stoned, and swap jokes and stories. A number of these actors have done some fine work in television (Plaza on Parks and Recreation, Greenfield on New Girl, Levy on Suburgatory) a medium far better suited to low-key hang outs where we learn to like and understand a large group of people. The performer’s easygoing chemistry and the general likability of all involved only gives a glimmer of why we should care. But the characterization and plotting is so thin and dull that it’s still hard to get invested.

There is promise and occasional kernels of wisdom buried in About Alex. But it’s lost in execution. As a Millennial, I have a larger stake in the cultural dialogue of my generation. The claims of solipsism lobbed at us will not be alleviated by a film like About Alex. These are narcissistic, selfish people who turn the well-being of one friend into an excuse to make everything all about themselves. Unlike The Big Chill’s characters, who had been out of college for many years, these characters are just a brief five years removed. Their nostalgia, crises, and bitterness feel a little too unearned. Unlike another Millennial-marked work, television series Girls — which is about the self-entitlement and delusion of people in their twenties — About Alex has no real interest in showing its characters’ actions and behaviors as wrong-footed or dissecting its characters to better understand their psychology.

At one point, in a terribly written scene, Josh tells everyone that his dissertation is on the way texts, emails, etc. are shaping our lives and will become biographical information for history. It’s the film’s clumsiest scene, revealing the gap between the film’s ambitions and what it actually accomplishing. At a number of points, About Alex notes the way we’re more connected and in touch due to social media but how that’s a poor substitute for actual social interaction and connection. It’s not a bad observation, it’s even one that would be interesting to explore further. But the film has such a poor handle on the inherent realities of this new media age that it feels glib and shallow.

However, the film is’t entirely shallow. For instance, when Zwick forces characters to confront Alex’s suicide, the film finds some emotionally authentic moments. When About Alex’s characters remember to not be characters in an indie dramedy, the slow dissolution of their friendships are relatable, if no less contrived.

Mark Webber’s sophomore effort as a director, The End of Love, follows a jobless single-father who is struggling to make ends meet while caring for his son. The film feels incredibly personal to Webber as nearly everyone in the cast goes by their real name and his son in the film is played be his actual child. It is the type of film that we come to expect out of Sundance Film Festival, a realistic portrait of an aspiring artist with an attempt to tug at your heartstrings. Although it does not venture far from that “Sundance formula”, The End of Love stands out above the rest because of the spectacular acting performances between the father and son.

Mark (Mark Webber), clearly exhausted, pleads with his two-year-old son Isaac (Isaac Love) to go back to sleep for just five more minutes. Because Mark is a single-father and can barely make his rent payments, paying for daycare every day is out of the question. Therefore, Mark is forced to bring Isaac along everywhere he goes, including his acting auditions that turn disastrous because of it. With his roommates on his back about paying rent, life delivers a knockout punch when his car is towed, setting him back half a grand.

Just as things could not get any worse for the struggling father and adorable son, a bone is thrown in their direction. Mark ends up meeting a lovely woman (Shannyn Sossamon) who is not only a single parent herself, but runs an indoor playground for children. You can tell his dating skills are rusty when she must make all the first moves, but the real kicker is when he tries to advance the relationship on the first date. This is painful to witness because you cannot help but feel remorse for him. And it is not the last time he makes the mistake.

Without question what makes The End of Love so moving is the empathy we feel for Mark and Isaac. The dynamic between the two is incredibly intimate because they are actually father and son in real life. This means the youngster did not need to recite lines and had the freedom to be his natural youthful self. Results of this improvised approach pays dividends in the long run by making the whole production seem exceptionally realistic.

Serving as a great contrast to the broke wannabe actor are the onslaught of cameos made by Amanda Seyfried, Jason Ritter, Aubrey Plaza, Jake Johnson, and Michael Cera, all basically playing themselves as highly successful people in Hollywood. The unfortunate part is their success in the field gives Mark false illusions that he is close to achieving the same. But this is not a pity party for Webber’s character. The ratio between the audience feeling bad for him and despising him for doing something irresponsible is close to a one to one match.

Perhaps even worse than an ending that is wholly upbeat or devastatingly depressing is one that takes the middle of the road, and unfortunately that is where The End of Love lands. There is a sense that the lead character is finally coming to terms with his wife’s passing, but leaves enough unanswered to make the audience neither cheer nor weep. Unlike the rest of the film where emotions are heightened, the ending is much more complacent. In the grand scheme of it all, this is a fairly minor quibble in an otherwise notable character study about coming to terms with difficult situations.