"What is mumblecore?" A friend of mine asked me this during the thick of the trend (last summer, arguably), and wanted to know whether mumblecore involved a lot of mumbling. She was hoping that it did. I disappointed her by saying that it might, but not always. The mumbling could also be grumbling. But what on earth am I talking about in the first place?

Legend has it that the term was coined by a sound editor, possibly frustrated by working on Andrew Bujalski’s films—his sceney Mutual Appreciation and Funny Ha Ha are both filled with twentysomething urban artistes grappling with love and ennui. (Other terms for the trend: “slackavettes” and “bedhead cinema.”) The idea of coolness is never that far from Bujalski’s brain. Compare this with Ronald Bronstein’s recently released Frownland, which is pegged as part of the trend and features a cast of postcollegiate Brooklyn dweebs. These characters, however, are much less hipsterish than Bujalski’s, and you forgive Bronstein’s crude technique for his sympathy for lost souls, particularly Frownland’s sweaty, nervous, socially inept protagonist, Keith (well played by nonprofessional Dore Mann).

Mumblecore, like virtually all film trends, is a manufactured one; it’s even had its New York Times think piece already. Basically, you’re talking low-budget indie filmmaking made by highly verbal, overeducated cinéastes. The Duplass brothers, Jay and Mark (who screen their latest, titled Baghead, at Tribeca), fit this mold perfectly. Born in New Orleans and schooled in Austin, they made a huge Sundance splash with their first feature, 2005’s Puffy Chair, which was actually about a La-Z-Boy. Baghead is the mumblecore version of a horror film: A quartet of schlubby actors go on a retreat to a cabin in the woods, where they address with painful awkwardness their feelings toward each other. Also, they get stalked by a guy with a bag on his head. Frankly, it sounds awesome—and no, I didn’t just mumble that.

Baghead screens at Tribeca starting Apr 26.