Neither blue teeth nor virgins make appearances, but Russell Brown’s torpid indie does deliver plenty of ponderous chitchat about truth, deception, criticism and artists’ motivations. A struggling screenwriter (Peck) gets a thumbs-down from his magazine editor friend (Johnson) regarding his latest work (the bizarre titular script). The former then instigates numerous distended conversations—including one with the reliably kooky Karen Black—about personal and creative issues, none of which display even pinpricks of insight. Slandering Hollywood and lionizing “edgy” indie fare has rarely seemed so undeservedly self-congratulatory.
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