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

You won’t catch me complaining about rom-coms or decrying the genre as lifeless, well-worn, or ready for bed. One cannot blame a film genre for the laziness of writers, directors, and narrow-minded studios. The same trends we see in consumer products apply to filmmaking. If it works, mass produce it until the market oversaturates and the people demand something new. Leslye Headland is demanding something different. Demanding, and making. Her sophomore film—a follow up to 2012’s Bachelorette—Sleeping With Other People is rom-com 2.0. Or 10.0, who knows which iteration we’re really on, all I know is we are ready for it. Headland must have decided unrealistic banter, comedy based on error and miscommunication, and men being the only ones allowed to misuse sex was getting old. All of which I tend to agree with.

In Sleeping With Other People, Headland, who also wrote the film, presents the “just friends” scenario and frees it up to be honest and self-aware, making for that rare and highly sought after rom-com combo: emotionally fulfilling AND hilarious.  If there is such thing as “organic” comedy, this is it. No one is genetically modifying the laughs in this film, they are all entirely deserved. Does that mean she goes light on the raunch or wickedness? Not for a second.

Starring Alison Brie and Jason Sudeikis, much of the film’s success falls on their mutual magnetism. Brie plays Lainey (but don’t worry she’s nothing like Laney Boggs from She’s All That), a kindergarten teacher with a longtime addiction to her always-unavailable college crush Matthew (Adam Scott). Lainey runs into the guy she lost her virginity to in college, Jake (Sudeikis), at a sex addicts meeting. Since their one-night tryst in college he’s become your typical serial polygamist, successful in his career—he’s just sold his startup to a large corporation led by a sexy CEO (Amanda Peet) he’s determined to nail—and totally absorbed in his sexual amusements. Jake and Lainey attempt a date but decide their mutual attraction will only feed into each other’s bad habit of abusing sex, deciding instead to remain friends.

What ensues is a modern update on When Harry Met Sally’s cynical approach to male-female friendships. Lainey and Jake keep the lines of communication between each other wide open, and similar to Meg Ryan’s famously enlightening lesson on the fake orgasms of woman, this film’s most talked about scene is likely to be when Jake goes into an in-depth (and visually illustrated) lesson on female masturbation. The two are so communicative as to inform each other when they are feeling attracted to the other, developing a safe-word: “mousetrap.”

The real heart of the film lies in their growing friendship and their increased dependence on one another. It’s a modern comedy that allows its characters to fall in love naturally, without the pressure of sex, while also providing plenty of sex throughout the film (with other people). The comedy of the film comes entirely from its honesty and openness, proving that mishaps, mistakes, and misperceptions aren’t the only way for romantic films to utilize comedy.

The dialog pushes Headland’s film far out of the realm of the usual rom-com as well. Not because it’s not bantery, but because the banter is surprising and realistically clever—with all the speed of Sorkin and the referential easter eggs of Gilmore Girls drained of un-believability. Contemporary audiences will appreciate the Millennial-style straight-forwardness and Lainey and Jake’s no-holds-barred conversation style. Throw in some irreverence—like taking drugs at a kid’s birthday party or Lainey’s adulterous weaknesses or Jake’s hesitancy in describing sex with a black woman—and it all adds up to a perfectly balanced amount of laughter and well-built romance.

Brie’s usual sweetness, most evidenced in her role in TV show Community, is balanced with some of the spirit we see her exhibit in AMC’s Mad Men as Trudy Campbell. She’s not a sucker, although she often returns to her hopeless romance with a married man, instead she’s a woman whose sexual desires have only been met by one man and she’s never known what it is to have emotional and sexual fulfillment in the same place. She’s not a victim, she never needs saving, she just needs a friend.

Sudeikis is also impressive, reigning in any lingering SNL silliness and playing as believably sexy and flawed, but not despicable. He could easily have made Jake appear creepy,—taking advantage of Lainey’s friendship—or pitiful—falling for a girl he may never get—but he stays equal parts damaged and dashing at all times.

They are surrounded by a great supporting cast including Jason Mantzoukas in my favorite role of his yet, and Natasha Lyonne playing both the mandatory best friend and mandatory gay best friend all at once, even if she’s not wholly believable as Lainey’s best friend. Adam Scott also plays against type as a nerdy scumbag, and Adam Brody goes big in his one early scene with Brie to hilarious effect.

The possibilities in romantic scenarios will never cease (though most romantic comedies tend to navigate to the same three or four), and Headland turns to one we’ve seen plenty of times before—the friendship-turned-romantic situation—but her approach is outgoing and unrestrained, not only with her humor but in the total transparency between her lead characters. These characters may be more clever than most people we know, more attractive, and more successful, but their friendship feels relatable and their flaws are actual which makes for heartier laughs and an aphrodisiacal love story.

A version of this review first ran as part of our 2015 Tribeca Film Festival coverage. 

It takes less than a minute for Addicted to Fresno to state its intentions. This is a story about sisters, but it’s not one about sisterly love. Instead, it’s a story about how sisters “sink each other,” and the image of one of the main characters in a prisoner’s outfit means things aren’t going to go well for at least one of these women. Yet Addicted to Fresno, Jamie Babbit’s (But I’m a Cheerleader) latest dark comedy, isn’t about a sisterly relationship falling apart. It’s more about the impact a poisonous family relationship can have, and how sibling support can harm and help both parties. But I’m getting a little ahead of myself here. Addicted to Fresno is, first and foremost, a very silly and sometimes mean-spirited comedy that can get a little too goofy for its own good.

After the brief tease at its beginning, the film flashes back to two years earlier when Shannon (Judy Greer) starts her life over after getting out of sex rehab. Her sister Martha (Natasha Lyonne, whose reunion with Babbit will hopefully continue from here on out), a hotel maid, gets Shannon a job so they can work together. Ever since their parents died Martha feels obligated to take care of Shannon, and it’s implied that this isn’t the first time she’s bailed her sister out of a bad situation. Shannon meanwhile is an obnoxiously sardonic type, complaining about how terrible life in Fresno is and taking no responsibility for her faults. Martha’s in the midst of a sort-of-breakup with a girl at her gym, and Shannon is covering up that she was in fact kicked out of sex rehab for sleeping with her therapist (Ron Livingston).

It takes almost no time for Shannon and Martha to fall into a routine of arguing with one other, but this time Shannon screws up significantly. Martha catches her sleeping with a disgusting hotel guest (Jon Daly, a sleazy highlight for his brief time on-screen), and in the ensuing scuffle he winds up dead. In an attempt to appease her sister, Shannon claims she was being raped but insists they don’t call the cops since as a sex addict they aren’t likely to believe her. Martha agrees to help dispose of the body, leading to a failed attempt to convince a couple pet cemetery owners (Fred Armisen & Allison Tolman) that they want to cremate a really big dog. The owners, desperate for cash, blackmail Shannon & Martha into giving them $25,000 in three days or else they go to the police.

Babbit attempts to make a sort of madcap, screwball comedy out of the entire situation, with Shannon and Martha carting their corpse around the city in a bin while resorting to desperate measures for cash. The whole thing feels frantic; within a short span of time the film wildly veers from a botched heist to a cheap “kickass” montage to a dramatic fight, and the constant changes in tone are jarring. It also doesn’t help that Karey Dornetto’s screenplay seems inclined to pick up and throw away character or story beats without any sense of purpose or resolution. A second heist attempt is thrown in and then tapers off, while the revolving door of supporting characters (including Molly Shannon, Jessica St. Clair, and Aubrey Plaza to name a few) provide light laughs, but make little to no impact. A teen’s attempt to launch his hip-hop career at his bar mitzvah is among the basest of the jokes presented.

But Addicted to Fresno is a funny film, for the most part, largely due to its game cast. Lyonne and Greer are both brilliantly cast against type here, with Lyonne taking the role of the cheery optimist and Greer diving into the chance to play a morose, bitchy character. Their performances wind up becoming the saving grace of the film since their wide range and great chemistry together sells the more sincere and dramatic moments in the final act. The ensemble does most of the film’s heavy lifting, since the unevenness of the script impacts Babbit’s direction as well (it’s surprising to see how lackluster her direction can be at times, considering her excellent work on television over the years). The sisterly bond at the center winds up resonating the most, but it seems problematic when the most memorable parts of a comedy are the unfunny parts.

Addicted to Fresno is available via VOD platforms September 1 and in theaters October 2, 2015.