In Henry Jaglom’s 1 millionth feature (number approximate), there are two kinds of people: civilians and “show folk,” the latter group apparently just beamed down from Planet Art. Self-consciously cribbing from Chekhov by way of Robert Altman, the filmmaker convenes an extended family of stage actors at a decaying country house in New Rochelle, where the Ambien-enhanced emotional pitch lingers north of perpetual hysteria. The just-announced fiancé (Judd Nelson) of a black-sheep nonactor (Julie Davis) serves as the eye of the storm, staid within a gaggle of self-dramatizers whose perpetual crises rapidly surpass farce on their way to fingernails-on-blackboard. Eventually, the self-regarding acting clan admits they’re only human after all. By then, the audience may want to disown them.
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