Shared Darkness

The seriocomic feature film debut of television director Liz W. Garcia, The Lifeguard offers up a contrived series of precious posed moments in telling the story of a young career woman who moves back home in an effort to shake off a low-lying cloud of personal and professional ambivalence. In her starring role, Kristen Bell delivers a charming, engaging performance, but the much sharper take on this same sort of female thirtysomething ennui (even though Bell’s character is quick to point out that she’s still 29 years old) is found in last year’s Hello I Must Be Going, starring Melanie Lynskey.



Leigh London (Bell) is an AP reporter in New York City who, after her romance with her engaged boss sputters out, moves back home to Connecticut with her parents. Her dad Hans (Adam Lefevre) is sympathetic, but Leigh’s tightly wound mother Justine (Amy Madigan) is going through issues of her own, and is chafed a bit by her daughter’s sudden presence. Leigh re-connects with a pair of old friends — Todd (Martin Starr) and Mel (a wonderful Mamie Gummer), the latter now an associate principal at the high school where they matriculated — and in short order decides to reclaim her old teenage job, as the lifeguard at a condominium complex.

It’s there that Leigh meets a group of outsider/skater types, including Matt (Alex Shaffer) and Little Jason (David Lambert, above right). They’re high school students, but on the precipice of dropping out, in order to… move to Vermont? Yep, that’s their plan. Beer is bought, marijuana is smoked, and inappropriate relationships ensue, along with a requisite side of soul-searching.

Garcia has a nice touch for pithy dialogue (“Is this parking lot passed down in the DNA of skaters, like a geese migratory pattern?” Leigh wonders aloud), and also makes quite nice use of music; her debut, which debuted at this year’s Sundance Film Festival, feels surprisingly well stitched together from a technical standpoint. But the backstories for her characters are threadbare, and so their motivations are often bewildering. Certain scenes just start in strange places (Little Jason randomly enters Leigh’s car in a rainstorm), and a couple of the supporting characters can’t overcome the limitations of the screenplay. (Particularly under-sketched is Mel’s sad-sack husband, played to annoying effect by Joshua Harto: he exists only to play “the rooted adult,” hectoring Mel and generally moralizing.)

Bell, looking beautiful with hardly a trace of make-up, exudes a warm watchability. And she has a fantastic rapport with both Starr and Gummer; their scenes are a treat. The torrid affair between Leigh and Little Jason, though, while evocatively captured, never digs much past the surface of Leigh’s distractible libidinal impulses. What ultimately tips The Lifeguard over from marginal recommendation to marginal pan is a cheap plot device at around the 75-minute mark that attempts to suddenly wring high-stakes drama from the narrative, followed by a cloying finale. With apologies to Thomas Wolfe, you can go home again; The Lifeguard just proves that sometimes it’s not the best course of action. For the complete, original review, from ShockYa, click here; for more general information, click here to visit the movie’s website. (Screen Media Films/Focus World, R, 98 minutes)

A delightful documentary that dances along the edge between intellectual think-piece and ring-a-ding, Ocean’s-style criminal lifestyle celebration, director Havana Marking’s Smash & Grab: The Story of the Pink Panthers is remarkable in how it sketches, connects and contextualizes the work and rising success of an international criminal syndicate, humanizing its players without absolving them from blame.

A shadowy and inventive group of jewel thieves who started snatching massive amounts of diamonds from European jewelry stores early in the new millennium, and then moved onto Asia and even Dubai, this mysterious collective has been dubbed the Pink Panthers — and not because they install Corning Fiberglass. In a decade-plus, they’ve committed an estimated 180 robberies, maybe more, with “earnings” of close to $300 million.

Smash & Grab takes a tripartite approach in telling their story — looking at some of the Pink Panthers themselves, the men trying to catch them, and the conditions that fostered their creation, the latter as seen through the eyes of a couple journalists who have tracked their story. One of the most interesting things about the Panthers is their compartmentalized, quasi-vertical power structure (a page borrowed from Al Qaeda, perhaps?), which lets thieves rise through the ranks to take part in bigger and more complicated jobs but also helps protect anonymity since there is no clear boss.

Marking’s film, then, fascinatingly connects the group’s formation to a basic lack of economic opportunity — in this case rising from the ashes of the failed Yugoslavian state, following the death of Josip Broz Tito in 1980 and the country’s bloody sectarian and ethnic clashes a decade later. In a jaw-dropping passage, Marking secures an interview with a former high-level government intelligence operative who admits that they helped forge passports for known criminals, embracing a policy whereby they could leave to commit robberies across Europe but return and be afforded some measure of safe harbor in their native land.

The interviews with Panthers themselves — rendered in stylish animation, to protect their anonymity — are just as engaging. Women are afforded an equal and important place at the table, since their ability to scout locations with less suspicion is crucial to the group’s modus operandi, summed up in the film’s title. The details of some of their plots are gripping, lending Smash & Grab the energy of a proper crime thriller, but there’s also a vulnerability and sadness to some of their more confessional musings. Slick and cleverly constructed, Marking’s film tells the Panthers’ backstory in a way that honors the intricacies and infallibility of human nature. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. (Music Box Films, unrated, 89 minutes)

Atiq Rahimi’s The Patience Stone is a unique, intimately scaled and enormously affecting dissection of patriarchal culture. The French-Afghan filmmaker’s drama, which debuted at last year’s Toronto Film Festival and was Afghanistan’s Best Foreign Language Academy Award submission, serves as a wonderful showcase for star Golshifteh Farahani, and if there’s any justice will deliver even more success her way.

The film’s story is extraordinarily plain, yet still gripping. In contemporary, war-torn Afghanistan, a young wife (Farahani) and mother of two children, after around a decade of marriage, tends to her wounded husband (Hamid Djavadan), who’s been rendered comatose by a bullet to the neck. Abandoned by his family and facing mortal uncertainty with the encroachment of resistance fighters, this unnamed woman, frustrated and largely alone, she begins to pour out her heart. The very act of confessing harsh, long-secreted-away truths to her husband — of her lack of sexual pleasure in their marriage, of her utter disconnection from him given his lack of even basic kindness — delivers her from a burden, transforming her on an almost religious level.

Rahimi, adapting his own award-winning novel with Jean-Claude Carrière, offers up a script that is sometimes a bit schematic. But he also provides economical and eloquent glimpses into the pathology of women raised and abused in this social system. Farahani (Body of Lies, Just Like a Woman), meanwhile, has an engaging presence — conveying both woundedness and the blooming of an intelligence suppressed too long. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. (Sony Pictures Classics, R, 102 minutes)

A true crime period piece that interestingly eschews a lot of investigatory grind in favor of moral certitude and throwback, cat-and-mouse tension, The Frozen Ground stars John Cusack as Alaskan serial killer Robert Hansen and Nicholas Cage as the state trooper who doggedly brings him to justice. Winding its way to justice in thorny fashion, this black-and-white genre tale doesn’t reinvent the wheel but, courtesy of some intriguing casting and its unique setting, it more than adequately checks off base-level boxes of entertainment.



Getting a bit of a theatrical release in advance of its home video bow, The Frozen Ground unfolds in 1980s Alaska, where the aforementioned Hansen would eventually confess to 17 murders and more than a dozen other kidnappings and rape. The film opens with a 17-year-old runaway and prostitute, Cindy Paulson (Vanessa Hudgens), escaping from her captor, and trying to tell the local police in Anchorage about her ordeal. They don’t much believe her, but when a string of unsolved homicides lands on the desk of Sergeant Jack Halcombe (Cage), he immediately puts the dots together, hones in on Hansen as a suspect, and undertakes a massive effort to first locate Cindy and then bring her in as a cooperating witness.

Like Zodiac, part of what makes The Frozen Ground interesting, or at least different from a lot of its cops-and-killer brethren, is the fact that it unfolds absent the advances in criminal forensics and other technology that we see even on the small screen now every week. Walker’s film is nowhere near as dense and intricately crafted as David Fincher’s opus, of course, but it does track emotionally along somewhat the same lines, summoning forth moments of flabbergasted viewer frustration over some detail ignored, piece of key evidence unexamined or alibi unchecked.

In Cage and Cusack, Walker has a pair of invested leads who deliver grounded and in some instances subtle work; they’re the movie’s pillars. Other actors fare a bit less well. Hudgens, on the heels of Sucker Punch and Spring Breakers, continues to noisily throw off the make-believe shackles of Disney-dom, and seemingly work through some sort of off-screen personal issues; as Cindy, she has a lot of the outwardly manifested traits and behaviors of trauma down pat, but struggles with a skating alley monologue which is meant to color her character’s tragic backstory. She opts to bring the emotion to the fore, but offhanded and flippant would be the more heartrendingly believable choice, as a self-destructive coping mechanism on Cindy’s part.

Air-quote intense camerawork, from Walker and cinematographer Patrick Murguia, often substitute for deeper characterizations. And while the story necessarily condenses an insurance fraud strand that helps reel in Hansen, along with other choice tidbits, Walker, as a screenwriter, sometimes struggles with dialogue and other details. (Radha Mitchell plays a shell of a character, obliging Halcombe a home life that would have been best excised, along with a terrifyingly awkward throwaway line about his “last two weeks” on the job.)

What works about The Frozen Ground stems from the relative uniqueness of its setting. The location shoot takes advantage of the dull greys of winter skies, and everything about the production design feels appropriately second-hand or just slightly out-of-fashion — new two autumns ago. There isn’t much mystery here — we know who did it, and this isn’t the movie for sympathetic psychological examination — but when Hansen goes to the ground, hops in his commuter plane and starts trying to squirrel away evidence, damn if The Frozen Ground doesn’t un-thaw a pessimist’s heart and catch them up in this tale. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. In addition to its theatrical engagements, The Frozen Ground also premieres today on VOD platforms. (Lionsgate, R, 104 minutes)

A spare, streamlined, desert-set psychological thriller that doubles as a study in masculine relationship drift, Scenic Route, scripted by Kyle Killen (The Beaver) and directed by brothers Kevin and Michael Goetz, is a reminder that smart writing and solid execution can lend wings to any concept that on the surface seems trite and familiar.



The film opens with a jolt that tells viewers, yes, there will be blood. What will the cause and exact nature of that bloodletting be, however? Longtime friends who’ve drifted apart, Mitchell (Josh Duhamel) and Carter (Dan Fogler) are on a road trip through the dusty American southwest when their truck breaks down. Carter is a scruffy, failing writer who lives on the societal fringe. Mitchell is family man, albeit one with a presently busted-up knee, who in the wake of a painful break-up put a ring on the finger of his hectoring rebound relationship and promptly abandoned his dream of music; Carter resents him for seemingly both of those decisions. Needling and questioning ensues while the pair wait for help. Rather quickly, Carter confesses that he actually staged the breakdown to try to actually manufacture some conversation time with his old pal. Needless to say, this revelation doesn’t please Mitchell.

Scenic Route is shot through with the same sort of wounded, howling masculinity that director Mark Pellington‘s I Melt With You, starring Rob Lowe, Thomas Jane, Jeremy Piven and Christian McKay, was aiming at. One big difference, though, is that Scenic Route lacks any of that fratty film’s druggy, bleary-eyed excess and sexual acting out — polarizing elements that effectively threw a blanket over more substantive or sincere discussions of its thematic explorations. It’s a movie which probes mid-life dissatisfaction in frank and sometimes uncomfortable ways, as when Mitchell confesses a marital infidelity to his friend, and despairs over the condition of his wife’s post-pregnancy body.

Killen’s script elevates things, and gives Duhamel and Fogler a nice range of material with which to play. Killen exhibits keen instincts for the sort of pinpoint emotional attacks that really get under a friend’s skin, and he has a smart sense of where and how to escalate arguments and even physical attacks and yet then pull back, which gives Scenic Route an intriguing, yo-yo-like sensibility. After much time and respective individual soul-searching in the desert, Scenic Route resolves its main situation, but not without a pleasant twist and some corresponding ambiguity. In going to such extremes, Killen again proves he can juggle disparate tones and deliver movies lined with a certain bruised grace. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. Scenic Route opens this week in Los Angeles at the Chinese 6 Theatres; in addition to its theatrical release in top regional markets, the film is also available across various VOD platforms. (Vertical Entertainment, R, 86 minutes)

Burning Man, an annual week-long event held in the Black Rock Desert of northern Nevada, would seem to be a great subject for a documentary. After all, the festival — which was originally envisioned as a utopian getaway and rebuke to the constrictive nature of modern life’s duties and norms — now draws in more than 50,000 participants, nominally known as “Burners,” each year. It’s become an alternative pop culture touchstone in and of itself, in the process spawning more than 50 regional festivals around the globe — all based on the same 10 operating principles, which include radical inclusion, participation, decommodification and self-reliance.

Spark: A Burning Man Story wants to be that definitive nonfiction offering, trying to impart the event’s origin story and history. Co-directed by Steve Brown and Jessie Deeter, the film paints in vivid colors, undeniably, but comes up short in delivering a coherent vision statement.

First, what Spark gets right: it captures the amazing can-do spirit and energy of almost all of its participants, from its San Francisco-based planners (yep, sorting out the infrastructure is a year-round thing) to its artistic-minded attendees. Spotlighting everything from drag costumes and huge projects (a five-building, #Occupy-style wooden mock-up of Wall Street excess overseen by an ex-Marine who goes by the name Otto von Danger) to the burning of a 35-foot tall titular sculpture that closes each festival, Spark lights up the imagination.

Other parts of the film are wildly interesting, too, because they dig into the organizational minutiae of trying to tame and shape this developing beast. Interviewees honor Brown and Deeter’s effort by engaging in some honest, big-picture, philosophically rooted arguments regarding issues like condoning “curated” or packaged tour experiences seemingly at odds with its participatory ethos and roots.

Still, as beautiful as a lot of the captured spectacle is, Spark could also benefit from cleaner through lines, and certainly a more rigid and structured chronological telling of the festival’s development. All of the co-founders are interviewed, but Brown and Deeter assemble the movie in jumbled fashion. Spark seems torn between behind-the-scenes perspective and a more experiential document — something 2009’s Dust & Illusions delved deeper into, chronicling the event from attendees’ perspectives. As such, it loses steam and its hold. There’s a spark here, but Brown and Deeter’s film doesn’t truly catch fire for the layperson. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. To view the film’s trailer, click here; for more information on the film, which is also available across VOD platforms, click here to visit its website. (FilmBuff/Paladin, unrated, 90 minutes)

A unique road trip documentary that attempts to throw a spotlight on the broad range of autistic spectrum disorder, The United States of Autism finds director Richard Everts traveling across the country for 40 days, visiting 20 families affected by the aforementioned condition. Everts’ film came into being as part of the Pepsi Refresh Project, which after two months of online voting awarded a $50,000 production grant. Everts also has a personal connection to autism, though — through his own childhood issues and, most immediately, his son now being impacted by the disorder. It’s that latter fact that most colors this tender, earnest offering, which broadens horizons in an invaluable way by letting viewers bear witness to some amazing stories. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here; for more information on the movie, click here to visit its website. (Tommy Foundations, unrated, 93 minutes)

A bewildering mixture of painfully familiar tropes and dishearteningly under-sketched characters gets the blender treatment in this latest big screen adaptation of young adult adventure fiction, based on a series of five novels by Cassandra Clare. Vampires, werewolves, warlocks, demons, portals to other dimensions and enough symbology to make even Dan Brown giggle all feature prominently in The Mortal Instruments: City of Bones, a sci-fi/fantasy quest of awakened destiny that starts out strongly but loses steam after a half-hour, cycling through a catalogue of tween-stamped CGI mayhem en route to a conclusion less thrilling than shrug-inducing. For the full, original review, from Screen Daily, click here. (Sony/Screen Gems, PG-13, 130 minutes)

A nicely captured if fairly straightforward coming-of-age film about transcending adolescent summer camp bullying, the family-friendly Standing Up represents a rather curious filmography entry for director DJ Caruso, whose other movies (among them Disturbia, Eagle Eye and I Am Number Four) have almost all all showed a penchant for slick, pop-minded entertainment. Vacuumed free of darkened peril or any of the idiosyncratic pop of Wes Anderson’s Moonrise Kingdom, which charts a somewhat broadly similar story of two pre-teens on the lam, this slight but well intentioned effort seems a better fit for small screen viewing. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. (Arc Entertainment, PG, 93 minutes)

Winner of the director’s prize in the U.S. documentary competition at this year’s Sundance Film Festival, Zachary Heinzerling’s Cutie and the Boxer is an engaging, playful and ultimately uplifting study of art and painting as refracted through the decades-long marriage of Ushio and Noriko Shinohara, Japanese-born artists living in New York City. In spotlighting the sweet-natured give-and-take of this relationship, the movie sidesteps doctrinaire concepts of nonfiction art films and expands its core audience, imparting glancing lessons about the uncertainty of love and the almost necessary dance of responsibility and care-taking involved. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here; for more information on the film, meanwhile, click here to visit its website. (Radius/TWC, unrated, 82 minutes)

If the background extras staring on in worshipful awe and/or cowed silence didn’t clue one in on Steve Jobs‘ anointed brilliance in director Joshua Michael Stern’s film about the influential Apple founder, then cinematographer Russell Carpenter’s reverential framing or, especially, John Debney’s cloying, heavy-handed score surely achieve the same effect. A biopic whose overly literal and demonstrative telling is at frequent odds with a slightly more rangy, full-bodied screenplay, Jobs, starring Ashton Kutcher, doesn’t attain the same dizzying, high-drama heights as Aaron Sorkin and David Fincher’s The Social Network, but instead trades readily on the tremendous native interest that attaches itself to and drives this story, given the significant role Apple products play in so many modern lives. It’s a serviceable little amuse-bouche, but doesn’t feel like a definitive rendering of its subject’s life.



A headstrong, adopted kid from a working-class Northern California suburb, Jobs drops out of college, dabbles in hallucinogens and travels to India searching for enlightenment with friend Daniel Kottke (Lukas Haas) before taking employment with videogame maker Atari in 1976. Frustrated with not only the daily grind of an office gig (and the accompanying social necessity of showers) but also what he views as the limited imaginations of lesser intellects, Jobs coaxes childhood pal Steve Wozniak (Josh Gad) out of a similarly stable job to start a company manufacturing and marketing the latter’s computer board invention, at a time when a home market for computers didn’t even exist. They hire a couple friends to meet the order of 100 units from a local electronics store owner, set up shop in the garage of Jobs’ parents, and christen their corporation Apple Computers.

An early investor, Mike Markkula (Dermot Mulroney), helps provide the framework for the company, and Jobs’ restless, relentless ambition does much of the rest, launching Apple into the stratosphere and leaving much bigger tech companies struggling to play catch-up. Eventually, though, Jobs’ thirst for innovation and his in-the-bones contempt for the status quo — as manifested by his insistence on pouring massive amounts of company resources into research and development — alienate Apple’s board members, leading to encroachments on his power and an eventual ouster from the company he co-founded.

Jobs has a good bit going for it. If his instincts for dialogue and interpersonal conflict are often woefully on the nose, debut screenwriter Matt Whiteley does a good job (pun more embraced than intended) of covering lots of ground in Jobs’ story. He doesn’t whitewash or pull punches about his protagonist’s legendary obstinacy, detachment and dickishness — even spotlighting (if rather awkwardly) scenes where Jobs informs his pregnant girlfriend (Ahna O’Reilly) that her condition isn’t his problem, and then later disavows paternity of said child. Focusing on a period of roughly two decades, from 1971 into the early ’90s, Jobs is also smartly structured, insofar as the movie builds to a natural, mid-level-type climax that occurs before Apple’s greatest tech age heights, when the rest of Jobs’ story, absent his cancer, arguably becomes just more of a string of successes.

Director Stern (Swing Vote, Neverwas) keeps the action moving at an appropriately brisk pace that ably showcases the tension and fissures in friendship — or, perhaps more accurately, professional alliance — that almost predictably develop once Apple becomes beholden to stockholders. He doesn’t always have the courage to linger on the roughest patches, though; there’s a low, ever-present hum of hero-worship that runs through Jobs, which is a bit disheartening. The film needn’t be dark, but the manner in which it dutifully cycles through and shruggingly resolves some of its more pronounced conflicts puts bows on disputes and contradiction not meant to be easily resolved.

Still, the film’s general story and performances are involving enough. Kutcher’s lead turn is one of solid investment. Some may quibble, but his physical similarity to Jobs — the reedy body type and thin face — help go a long way toward establishing an audience rapport, and the actor additionally makes a mostly admirable pass at his trademark ungainly gait and terse, clipped speech patterns. Gad, meanwhile, delivers a centered, sympathetic turn as “Woz,” the closest thing to a reliable or lasting friend in this snapshot of Jobs’ world.

In the end, it may not be the authoritative cinematic telling of one of the undeniable luminaries of our new-tech age — the aforementioned Sorkin is working on an adaptation of Walter Isaacson’s authorized biography — but Jobs is a credible resume entry for almost everyone involved. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. (Open Road Films, PG-13, 127 minutes)

For years, in movies like Over Her Dead Body and No Strings Attached, Lake Bell has played the best friend or colorful third lead, exhibiting a nice instinct for comic timing. With her superb directorial debut, Bell has finally blossomed, creating her own showcase for her true voice.



And what a voice it is, too. Winner of the Waldo Salt Screenwriting Award at this year’s Sundance Film Festival, In a World… is a sharply sketched, wonderfully cast ensemble set against the intriguing backdrop of the cutthroat movie-trailer voiceover world. (The title is a tip of the hat to the late Don LaFontaine, and the baritone phrase he used to kick off many trailers.) Funny, fresh and populated with engaging and relatable characters that behave in recognizably human ways, it’s a true indie treat — easily one of the year’s best comedies.

Chocolate velour track suit-clad Sam Sotto (Fred Melamed) is nearing the end of a long and successful career as a voiceover artist. That doesn’t mean he’s any less egotistical, however. When he casts his underachieving, emotionally wayward adult daughter, Carol Solomon (Bell), out of his house to make room for his 30-year-old fiancée, Jamie (Alexandra Holden), Sam paints it as just another gesture of his largesse (“I’m helping her by not helping her”).

Carol is a part-time vocal coach looking to stamp out the spreading virus of affected “sexy baby” voices in women, but she also needs a place to live. While crashing for a bit with her sister Dani (Michaela Watkins) and brother-in-law Moe (Rob Corddry), Carol books her first voiceover gig with the assistance of an awkward but charming sound engineer, Louis Parker (Demetri Martin). Soon, she has the inside track on her father’s mentee and the industry’s rising star, Gustav Warner (Ken Marino), to do the voiceover for the adaptation of the hot Amazon Games franchise, the next big young-adult novel property. Sam, however, may not be ready to go quietly into the night.

In a World… does something few films do, let alone few directorial debuts — it takes a completely unique setting and story, and then executes on that winning plot without really ringing a false note. Plot-wise, the film is actually kind of overstuffed, with bisecting love triangles and churned-up family issues and comedic misunderstandings that would play in an old vaudevillian routine. But it all rather works, because each ingredient is fresh and the casserole is so well tended to.

Bell takes notions of arrested development and breathes them into various characters, but in a manner that makes sense specifically for them. She also doesn’t sandbag or sell short her characters. It’s not surprising that Carol is well-written, since Bell is playing the lead. But even a supporting character like Jamie is given a great, honest character arc; she’s no mere empty-headed trophy wife, despite appearances. Bell proves equally as at home writing character-based comedy — there’s a sisterly discussion of “just the tip,” awkward posturing by Moe when a neighbor has to use his shower, and plenty moments of quirky workplace recording humor — as she is tossing out The Great Gatsby and Cranberries references, or one-liners about Life Savers.

Most of all, Bell is abetted by a great cast. Melamed is fantastic, as is Martin. Bell and Watkins have a wonderful rapport, and there’s even a surprising tenderness and emotional connection to a romantic rekindling Dani and Moe share. In a World… may be a bit roughhewn for some tastes, but it’s so alive, identifiably clumsy and deliciously complicated — so of the real world — as to put a smile on viewers’ faces. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. (Roadside Attractions, R, 93 minutes)

As both a writer and performer, Larry David has long mined anxiety, irritation, social faux pas and self-flagellating neuroses for all sorts of uncomfortable laughs. It seems no empty pose, though, this persona; it feels hard-wired to his soul. Without the angst, and its slip-sleeve of puffed-up, mock-selfishness he got to slip on for HBO’s Emmy Award-winning Curb Your Enthusiasm, would there actually be a Larry David?

Well, Clear History provides no answer to that question, for those wondering. Debuting this week on HBO, the movie finds David re-teaming, in multi-hyphenate fashion, with three of his Seinfeld and Curb collaborators (writers Alec Berg, David Mandel and Jeff Schaffer), for another comic tale of put-upon exasperation. The result starts strong but fades in the end, like a sprinter out of the blocks in a mid-distance race with which he or she is unaccustomed. Gags and joke writing are given favor over deeper characterizations, a tack which works for a while but eventually undercuts what is a quite promising set-up.

Clear History opens in 2003, with a nearly unrecognizable David starring as Nathan Flomm, the marketing expert at an upstart California electric car company headed up by Will Haney (Jon Hamm). When Nathan balks at Haney naming the set-to-debut vehicle after his son Howard (who is in turn named after Howard Roark from Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead), he impulsively gives up his 10 percent stake in the company and resigns. Naturally, this movie existing in David’s world, the car becomes a $10-billion, zeitgeist-defining hit.

Needing to pretty much drop off the face of the Earth, Nathan assumes the name of Rolly DaVore and moves to Martha’s Vineyard. Nobody there knows his secret, not even best friend Frank (Danny McBride). Ten years later, though, Nathan-as-Rolly is happy and an integrated part of this community, even if his preoccupations — like his concern over the fact that his ex-girlfriend Wendy (Amy Ryan), may have performed oral sex on (multiple?) members of the band Chicago when last they toured in the area — are stuck in arrested development.

When a retiring Haney and his new wife Rhonda (Kate Hudson) move into the neighborhood, however, Nathan sees his well-ordered world crumbling down around him. He considers fleeing, but then has a better idea: he’ll blow up Haney’s mansion, which construction crews are in the process of putting the finishing touches on. Through Frank, Nathan connects with a couple of idiot quarry workers, Joe and Rags (Micheal Keaton and Bill Hader, respectively), and even a shady Chechnyan black market dealer named Tibor (Liev Schreiber). Antics ensue.

The rhythms of much of the movie’s patter are familiar, and as funneled through David’s angsty kvetching a lot of this material connects with no small amusement. Rants about the placement of electrical outlets, placing silverware on napkins instead of directly on a table, the sincerity of apologies and why Nathan doesn’t reply to birthday emails (“There are so many it turns into a job, which kind of defeats the purpose”) are funny, and definitely bring a smile to the face. Director Greg Mottola (Superbad, Adventureland), too, keeps things moving at a generally good clip.

But if Clear History has energy to spare, for sure, it also lacks the verve and intellectually compacted punch of the best of Curb Your Enthusiasm. At several points, the script plots a seemingly wild change of course only to abandon its outrageousness in midstream. As its story winds its way into the second and third acts, ideas are engaged in the most fitful fashion, while certain potentially rich details (Haney’s seemingly incongruous predilection for Ayn Rand, for instance) are abandoned completely. Characters become servants to the writers’ joke-writing instincts, rather than the other way around. There’s enough here to still merit a curious click. But Clear History may not be what hardcore David acolytes most crave. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. Clear History plays throughout the month of August on HBO and its affiliated channels; check local listings for showtimes. (HBO Films, unrated, 100 minutes)

A grand-scale survey of Jewish humor from the middle portion of the 20th century, shambling documentary When Comedy Went to School represents an amiable, openhearted attempt to shine a spotlight on the ethnic lineage of observational stand-up, and its roots in the vaudevillian era. Ostensibly a look at the so-called greatest generation of comedians — a generation that includes the likes of Jerry Lewis, Sid Caesar, Jerry Stiller, Jackie Mason and Mort Sahl, all interviewed here — and the manner in which they got their pre-television training in the resorts of the Catskill Mountains, the film is unfortunately too scattered and bereft of focus to connect with viewers outside of the most sympathetic and devoted habitués of old-school comedy.

Lacking any clean or clear throughlines, co-directors Ron Frank and Mevlut Akkaya’s film unfurls as a jumbled mass of half-baked historical footnotes, recollections, asides and unconnected details. Good intentions abound, but this Comedy is almost all cluttered, talky set-up, in other words. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. For more information on the film, meanwhile, click here to visit its website. In addition to its other theatrical engagements, the movie opens this week in Los Angeles at the Laemmle Music Hall and Town Center 5, with additional weekends shows in Pasadena and Claremont. (International Film Circuit, unrated, 76 minutes)