Here’s a mathematical formula for you: Take one overlong, nonsensical script; multiply it by terrible editing and design; then divide the whole thing by wooden performances. Voilà: You’ll have Jeff Lipsky’s unwatchable indie. Like Tommy Wiseau’s notorious The Room—a movie whose unintentional awfulness is vastly more entertaining—Molly’s Theory of Relativity takes place almost entirely inside one small apartment. The titular unemployed astrophysicist (Sophia Takal) and her husband (Lawrence Michael Levine) are preparing to pick up stakes and move from Queens to Norway. The two blather on ad nauseam about their pasts, eat a meal prepared by ghosts and yell a lot at Zak’s father (excellent Broadway vet Reed Birney, who seems to have become trapped in this movie like Ariel in the cloven pine). Oh, and they also have a whole bunch of graphic anal sex. Yeah.
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