How's that for a convenient title? No need to fret over the fates of Don Roos's
seven flighty Angelenos thrown into the movie's emo Cuisinart; everything will
turn out peachy in that cloying Sundance way by which quirk and crinkly-eyed
tears connote easy, unearned wisdom. Still, keeping track of all the characters'
stylish problems (baby envy, relationship envy, lead-singer-in-a-terrible-band
envy, etc.) is preferable to Roos's annoyingly solicitous onscreen texts (e.g.,
"Charley is gay now. Who isn't these days?"), consistently barging in and
informing us on how to feel.