Movie Nation

As acting “baggage” goes, you could do worse than be saddled with the rep Jason Segel takes with him from film to film.

He’s carved out a niche playing softies, pushovers, semi-lost souls who go through life always erring on the side of “sweet.” From “Forgetting Sarah Marshall” to “Jeff Who Lives at Home,” years on TV’s “How I Met Your Mother” and in the new film, “Our Friend,” he’s the best friend you’d ever want to have, the sensitive one who may be “lost” but who always has time to help you find yourself.

“Our Friend” doesn’t lose track of its title character, but it does wander around him an awful lot as it skips through time, tracking a marriage from its early days through the terminal cancer that takes the life of the wife and mother. That diffuse focus and meandering narrative is the only real shortcoming in this consequential and touching weeper, a film inspired by a true story written by the magazine journalist who survived that loss, largely through the semi-divine, half-aimless intervention of “Our Friend.”

Dane (Segel) doesn’t make a great first impression on Matthew (Casey Affleck). He’s a stage hand at the New Orleans theater where Nicole (Dakota Johnson) is in a play, the one stage hand with the temerity to ask her out.

He didn’t know she was already married, and Dane’s disarming, hangdog self-loathing is all it takes for Matthew to take to him, just as his wife as.

In a narrative that skips back and forth through time, we see Nicole and Matthew early in the marriage, when Matthew is starting his journalism career at the Times-Picayune and she is acting, the period right after her cancer diagnosis, then back to later stops on Matthew’s globe-trotting career path, then the day a doctor tells them “It’s terminal.”

Parties and birthdays, plays and assignments overseas pass by. And Dane? The die is cast the first time he’s asked about his ambition. He’s an aspiring stand-up comic. How’s that coming?

He’s “started to think about it.” He’s looking ahead to the day when “I get a pen, get a pad,” and starts writing funny ideas and jokes down.

That’s Dane. A little dreamy, a little lonely, seriously self-defeating. That’s Dane even after he finally gets a serious girlfriend. He moves in, but almost to the day that’s when he dashes down to Fairhope, Alabama where the his friends and their two little girls have settled. Nicole’s gotten sick, and Matthew, trapped and lost in a domestic crisis beyond his grasp, has let the house go to pieces and left the girls (Isabella Kai, Violet McGraw) to half-fend for themselves.

“Would it help if I stayed for a while?”

Yes. Yes it would. And as the couple wrestles over “when to tell the kids” and Nicole’s impulsive and near-impossible “bucket list,” the guy Mom nicknamed “Fruit Loop” way back when, who now insists the kids address him as “Grandma Dane,” steps into the void. He might be an aimless, rootless 30something, but he’s well-stocked with “Dad jokes.”

“Me? I didn’t do nothing. I’m like the Mona Lisa. Framed!”

He’s there to get the kids to school, leading sing alongs to “Call Me, Maybe,” to take the dying dog to be put down. His girlfriend may be frustrated, and Dane’s own issues — visited throughout the time periods of the story — make us and him wonder if he has the stamina to “help you get to the other side of this.”

Director Gabriela Cowperthwaite, who transitioned from documentaries (“Blackfish,” the movie that ended orca captivity at SeaWorld) to features (“Megan Leavey”) has her own brand, making movies of emotional substance.

She lets Segel stay in his comfort zone and do bits of cute shtick with the kids, but never lets us forget what Nicole is going through and how that is pummeling everyone around her. The oldest daughter (played by Kai) knows what is happening and is acting out. Earlier strains in the marriage might re-open. Matthew had a fainting problem earlier on, and as doctors and others (Cherry Jones plays an angelic hospice nurse) in the know realize, as the illness progresses, friends are “going to fall away, one by one.”

The downbeat tone and constant shuffling of the order of events in the narrative only makes the viewer forget where the real center of gravity is here. But as disorienting as that is, it’s reinforcing, in a way, what the laid-back manner of Dane’s introduction sets up as its message.

Sometimes, it’s the last people you expect when you first befriend them who stick around. And when the chips are down, their biggest surprise for you is that they’re the very last ones to leave.

MPA Rating: Rated R for language

Cast: Dakota Johnson, Casey Affleck, Isabella Kai, Violet McGraw, Denee Benton and Jason Segel

Credits: Directed by Gabriela Cowperthwaite, script by Brad Ingelsby, based on an article by Matthew Teague. A Gravitas Ventures/Universal Home Ent. release.

Running time: 2:05

Big big viewership numbers as Pixar’s “Soul” makes its mark on Disney Plus.

Pixar’s ‘Soul’ Records Historic Nielsen Streaming Win In Christmas Bow On Disney+

News like this makes me wonder why Amazon or Hulu didn’t jump at the chance to buy the latest James Bond film rather than seeing it pushed back on the release calendar repeatedly.

Deadline.com reported Sony/MGM wanted $600 million for it back in the fall. Netflix doesn’t need it. Disney doesn’t. Amazon and Hulu do.

“The White Tiger” is a soap operatic saga about one young man’s rise to the “light” — the wealthy caste — of India. It’s a “What Makes Sammy Run?” for the subcontinent, a self-narrated tale of a hustler and how he hustled — “How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying” without the music, and with the “trying.”

North Carolina filmmaker Ramin Bahrani has made a bluntly insightful melodrama about India beyond Bollywood, a country with grinding poverty that entraps most, the entrenched, corrupt rich and “the entrepreneur class” arising out of the “miracle” of the “outsourcing economy.”

It’s not as good as Bahrani’s more intimate indie films (“Chop Shop” and “99 Homes”). But he’s made a summer read of movie — a real page-turner (based on a novel by Aravind Adiga) — and a film that holds your interest straight through its seriously perfunctory finale.

A clumsy structure frames it. A Bangalore entrepreneur (Adarsh Gourav of “Mom” and “My Name is Khan”) writes a longflattering fan letter to a visiting Chinese premiere on the hopes that he’ll get to meet the great man on his tour of India.

“The future belongs to yellow and brown people,” our narrator crows. And in his story, he lays out how he knows this prophecy to be true.

But there’s a less clumsy second frame, an opening car accident that changes the fate of our anti-hero much later on.

Balram was a smart but poor village kid, bound for a scholarship that politics and the generational tyranny of his family kept him from accepting. All but enslaved to a tea shop because of his father’s debts, bullied and shamed into submission by a grandmother controlling her not-quite-starving extended family’s fate, Balram grows up to recognize the many things holding him back and sentencing his father and him to a lifetime in the servant class.

Peer pressure and schadenfreude ensures that the poor hold each other back, and Balram decides he will do whatever it takes “not to be a poor man in a free democracy.”

Sly asides in this narration poke fun at China’s idea of “freedom,” and India’s laughable embrace of the title “world’s largest democracy.” Balram sees the two Indias — the “light” for the rich, connected and corrupt, and the dark for those consigned to the lower castes.

He schemes to get a job with the rich family of shakedown artists led by The Stork (Mahesh Manjrekar), cruel opportunists who started in the village and finagled their way into a virtual protection racket, taxing the poor to prop up their city lifestyle.

Borrowing from Granny to get driving lessons (she extorts his promise to pay her almost everything he earns), our hero wrangles the “second driver” job with the family, handling the Mitsubishi SUV that hauls around American-educated son Ashok (Rajkummar Rao) and his American-born wife Pinky (Priyanka Chopra).

They don’t like the words “master” or “servant,” don’t beat the hired help like the older generation of the family does. Balram does his job in the most servile way he can manage, listens and learns. Someday, he will get the cash and the connections together to escape this trap, where even a well-paid servant is put out to pasture in poverty once the rich are done with them.

“White Tiger” feels like a more universal “movie of its moment” in its messaging. We see the beloved politician (a composite) nicknamed “The Great Socialist,” a “champion of the poor” who takes bribes to keep taxes low for the rich. This film is all about a class war that may sound like a race war, in Balram’s hamfisted “brown and yellow future” declarations. But he sees the real enemy.

“Do we loathe masters behind a facade of love, or do we love them behind a facade of loathing?”

The script narrates its way through the many plagues of life in India — literal (tuberculosis) and figurative (lack of education, classism, the poor embracing their fate via religion and tradition).

There’s a lot to chew on and a lot to see hanging off a rise-to-riches story built on a classic model.

It’s not the most surprising story of its type, and it’s far from Bahrani’s most graceful film. His more intimate, less sprawling tales never felt this clunky, with all the seams showing.

But Gourav makes a barely-likable and yet entertaining tour guide. And the story, from its lighter delights to its grim underpinnings, holds the viewer through 125 minutes of “India in a way India Rarely Portrays Itself,” a country that owns the future by painting over the serious problems of the tens of millions destined to be left behind.

MPA Rating:R for language, violence and sexual material 

Cast: Adarsh Gourav,  Priyanka Chopra, Rajkummar Rao, Mahesh Manjrekar and Vijay Maurya

Credits: Scripted and directed by Ramin Bahrani, based on the novel by Aravind Adiga.  A Netflix release.

Running time: 2:07

“Cerebral horror” is a label — perhaps unfair, perhaps a backhanded compliment — we use for that rare tale of terror that doesn’t just get in your head. It makes you think.

“Saint Maud” is the latest brooding bit of Gothic horror from the studio that gave us “Hereditary,” “The Lighthouse,” “Midsommar” and “The Witch.” These are typically spare thrillers that flirt with the supernatural but find the worst terrors are of our own making, conceived inside our own skulls. That’s A24’s brand.

The plot couldn’t be simpler. A nurse (Morfydd Clark of “Pride and Prejudice and Zombies”) leaves a hospital job for to assume “palliative care” duties with a dying dancer and choreographer (Jennifer Ehle). The dancer, an earthy cynic and atheist, lives in an old house on top of a hill overlooking the town (Scarborough, North Yorkshire) and the sea. Maud cares for her, endures her moods and as they say in certain corners of fundamentalism “bears witness” to her patient.

Maud is Catholic. Her voice-over narration is in prayer form, earnest verbal letters to God. Maud frets about “Your plan for me. You must have saved me for something greater than this.”

The cynic, given to mood swings, lets herself seem moved by this overt piety. And facing the end, Amanda wonders about “that last moment. What will I be looking at?”

She doesn’t see the whole Maud, the one we’re privy to in her room. She’s into scourging the flesh, inflicting pain. It might be through sticking her hand on a hot stove or kneeling in front of a crucifix on kernels of popcorn that she’s spread on the floor.

That’s got to smart. — and leave a mark.

Something happened to Maud, something we get a glimpse of in the opening scene — a body on an operating table, our titular heroine crushed, confused, unable to wash off the blood. The deeper we get into writer-director Rose Glass’s tale, the more we worry for Maud’s patient and the more we fret over what Maud might have in mind to mimic sainthood.

Glass, making an auspicious horror debut, tests Maud in all manner of ways. But are the tests coming from on high, or are they all in Maud’s increasingly unmoored mind?

Clark, who shares a Jane Austen past with Ehle –they both appeared in adaptations of “Pride and Prejudice,” one of which had zombies — is chillingly all-in here. Maud is a veritable model of “good Catholic nurse” who gives us plenty of moments to doubt her sanity and wonder at the sort of young woman she was before whatever happened to make her this way.

She is earnest, but never guileless or naive. She isn’t sophisticated enough to smile when she threatens a young dancer (Lily Frazer) Amanda is having one last fling with, and walking away from a former colleague (Lily Knight) is how she copes with her past — ignoring it.

The radiant Ehle gives us hints of a grande dame of the dance — serene even in sickness, mercurial, with a beatific smile here, an acrid dismissal there.

“I’ll go to bed when I damn well like!”

Glass lets her story simmer and her characters brood for almost 80 minutes, Maud’s rapturous passion rising even as she lashes out — in sexual and self-injurious ways — at the deity who isn’t giving her direct answers.

And then the writer-director slaps us right across the face with a finale that feels harrowing and somehow right and true.

Yes, it’s more “cerebral” than it is horrific. But “Saint Maud” is just creepy enough to come off. And you’ll never look at unpopped popcorn kernels the same way again.

MPA Rating: R for disturbing and violent content, sexual content and language

Cast: Morfydd Clark, Jennifer Ehle, Lily Knight, Lily Frazer

Credits: Scripted and directed by Rose Glass. An A24 release.

Running time: 1:24

For my money, the cleverest movie plot of 2020 belongs to Tunisia’s submission for inclusion in The Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences’ “best international feature” contest at the upcoming Oscars.

“The Man Who Sold His Skin” is political and playful, romantic and ironic. It’s about the Syrian Civil War, art and art collecting, human rights and the life of a work of art. And it’s a provocative and darkly amusing delight.

A famous artist contracts a Syrian refugee to let him create a work of art on his back. That artwork –a tattoo of a Schengen Visa, detailed down to the serial numbers. That’s what refugees coming to Europe crave and absolutely must have to relocate there, escaping civil wars, drought, poverty and oppression.

A human being becomes a sitting, seething embodiment of a global crisis and a cause celebre amongst the artsy cognoscenti. How’s that for a “clever hook?”

Sam Ali (Yahya Mahayni) only wanted to be “free” to love Abeer (Dea Liane). She’s from a higher social class, and she hasn’t told her mother about this classmate she’s fallen for. But that doesn’t stop Abeer from declaring her love on a Damascus commuter train.

It’s just that this admission sends lovestruck Sam into ecstasy, announcing his love to everybody on board, dancing and singing to the claps of their fellow passengers. Damned if the sullen old man taping this on his cell phone didn’t rat them out to the authorities. Sam’s arrested, shirtless and facing interrogation when miracle of miracles, the interrogator turns out to be related.

“Run away,” the government goon hisses between threats.

Sam does, all the way to Beirut. Abeer? She’s married off to a member of the Assad autocracy, an official with the consulate in Brussels.

What can save Sam from his despair, his life of menial labor inspecting freshly-hatched chicks? He finds an answer when he and a pal crash an art opening. He likes art, and he likes cadging free food more. But when the manager (Monica Bellucci) running the opening catches him and confronts him with kindness, he turns surly. That gets the attention of her client, Belgian-American artist Jeffrey Godefroi (Koen De Bouw).

The faintly-flamboyant Jeffrey LOVES surly, and he is inspired by this angry refugee.

“I want your back,” he purrs. And as he’s contracted to do a show in Brussels, lovesick Sam sells it to him — for a piece of the action.

Writer-director Kaouther Ben Hania (“Beauty and the Dogs”) takes a real-life incident involving a tattooist and art subject “contract” and turns it into this send-up of the poseur-packed art world, the fluid nature of what we call art these days, a humanitarian crisis and the professional protesting classes who “defend” the rights of the displaced.

But Sam doesn’t want to be “defended.” He’s being well-compensated and is living in a five star hotel. He wears a silk robe to work each day like a prize-fighter, removing it to settle into a darkened museum grotto of light and mirrors.

The film never crosses into out-and-out farce, even as it lightly cuts every group Ben Hania holds up for skewering. She never lets us forget that this is, at heart, a love story, filled with longing and growing bitterness. That gives “Sold His Skin” its gravitas.

The tragedy of the last decade in Syria is kept in the background for the most part, as increasingly rebellious Sam struggles to maintain his humanity through the life cycle of a “hot” work of art. There’s celebrity and its downside, the inevitable “controversy” and blowback, sales and auctions, each more humiliating than the last.

And hell and damnation, his woman’s gone and married a thug with an Assad office job.

As dark as Ben Hania lets things turn — this is, after all, a form of slavery, “human trafficking” and “prostitution” — she’s never lets her film sit and curdle.

No, there’s always a new crisis when the portrait develops a pimple, another quip from the provocateur who designed the art, Jeffrey.

“I’m not cynical. The WORLD is!”

In his feature film debut, Mahayni gives dignity, pettiness and raging frustration to Sam. Liane is the very picture of winsome unattainable desire. De Bouw is an oddly-accented hoot, and Bellucci classes-up everything and everyone around her, as usual.

And when it’s all over, the viewer gets to wrestle with everything everyone here does — the plight of Syria, the nature of art, “exploitation” and the nature of “freedom.”

Not bad for the first Tunisian film much of the world will have ever had the chance to see.

MPA Rating: Unrated, violence, profanity

Cast: Yahya Mahayni, Monica Bellucci, Dea Liane, Koen De Bouw

Credits: Scripted and directed by Kaouther Ben Hania. A BAC/Tanit Films release.

Running time: 1:43

She wasn’t always a cleaning lady. And from the liberties she takes with one client’s lipstick, makeup and clothes — trying them on — you’ve got to wonder if this is a job she’ll hang on to for long.

Still, she’s educated and put together well, and you’d never know her financial and employment situation at first glance.

So when a patient at the psychotherapist’s office she cleans mistakes her for “an associate” of the doctor, reaches out in a sort of resigned despair upon learning the doctor has just left town for two weeks, Maarit listens and puts on her compassionate face.

And seeing as how Sami is kind of cute and wounded, she does more that feign sympathy. She’ll have a session or two with him.

“Can you keep this between us?” is her condition. Oh, and one other thing, Maarit used to be Mauritz. She’s transgender. Is that going to be a problem?

That’s the implausible and highly ethical set-up to “Open Up to Me,” a Finnish drama with a trangender heroine (played by Leea Klemola) we’re supposed to root for, but who is plainly problematic.

She is discriminated against, something we pick up on in job interview scenes and one brutally bigoted encounter with police. She hasn’t openly identified as a woman for long, so she’s just now figuring out how that sort of courtship might work and who might be “into” who she is now and who she was before.

“My problem is I’m too honest,” she tells one prospective employer (in Finnish with English subtitles). That goes for her love life, too.

But damn girl, this isn’t how you do it — pretending to be a shrink, listening to a lonely soccer coach (Peter Franzén) lamenting how cold his marriage has turned, how he’s seeing a shrink at the insistence of his control-freak wife (Ria Kataja). That’s downright predatory.

Writer-director Simo Halinen puts Maarit in a hole, straight off, and takes the dramatic strategy of building sympathy for her afterwards. She’s estranged from her daughter (Emmi Nivala), employed far beneath her station. She used to be a school social worker.

And she’s not just counseling Sami, bonding over football (most implausible of all, they once played against each other in junior leagues) and flirting. She’s “open” with him about being transgender and he’s accepted that, and isn’t repelling her advances.

But she’s also stumbled into his wife Julia under the same circumstances (at that office) and given her advice, too. That is lawsuit level out-of-bounds and makes it that much harder to sympathize with our heroine.

And she needs sympathy. When the cops call her in, what they’re questioning her about is plainly more a potential civil liability. They’re just grilling her, using her abandoned name, as harassment.

Maarit’s obsession with “my needs” and her desires has blinded her to what she’s put her daughter through, as well.

Writer-director Halinen has picked a slippery fence to park his picture on, showing us a little romance mixed with a few ugly attitudes. Many wincing moments, such as teen soccer tyro Teo’s blunt “Are you a man or a woman?” question to Maarit on their first meetings, are defused, in that case, with Teo’s Italian macho flattery.

“You kind of dig your body too much,” Teo (Alex Anton) tells her , “the way Finnish women never do.”

Klemola, a veteran Finnish actress, gives the barest hint of gender dysphoria, and is just convincing enough as a woman who used to identify as a man. We don’t hear about surgery or hormones, any of that. The movie’s far more interested in her midlife mental adjustment to the change.

She’s focused on what she wants to the exclusion of how that might hurt others. She’s a tad aggressive.

Maarit is not bellwether transgender character, and not necessarily that likeable. Her daughter pops in for a visit, and Maarit leaves the teen in a parking garage at night while she runs upstairs to change.

Maybe in Finland that’s OK, but come on.

That makes Maarit something of a trailblazing figure in transgender cinema representation — not pitiable or annoying and grating, in an over-compensating way. She’s just selfish and reckless, something everybody else is to a greater or lesser degree.

MPA Rating: Unrated, sexuality, profanity, adult situations

Cast: Leea Klemola, Peter Franzén, Ria Kataja, Alex Anton and Emmi Nivala

Credits: Scripted and directed by Simo Halinen. A Corinth films/Film Movement+ release.

Running time: 1:35

Monica Bellucci stars in this tale of a tattoo superstar and looks like nothing you’d expect to see from any North African cinema. Wow.

My stars and garters, what manner of Z-movie mayhem is this?

A little nacho cheese from the makeup maestro turned director of “Leprechaun Returns,” complete with all the digestive tract burps and toots that label entails, “Psycho Goreman” looks and sounds like it was cooked up by people the age of its stars.

It’s a tween’s sci-fi/fantasy/horror mashup, with monsters, beheadings, made-up games, sibling bullying, magical orbs and talking back to your parents.

Gory and a tad psycho? Truth in advertising!

And even if it sags in the middle like your Dad once he hit 50, it’s still cheerful enough to come off, or come close enough.

Siblings Mimi and Luke go at it, hammer and tong, in their muddy suburban back yard every night. The game is “crazy ball,” a “dodgeball” variation with a lot of creative enhancements.

That’s how Luke (Owen Myre) ends up digging that hole as punishment. That Mimi (Nita-Josee Hanna) is a tiny terror, with her foot on his neck and quite the mouth on her as well.

“Check the TAPE,” she bellows at her intimidated parents (Alexis Kara Hancey, Adam Brooks). “Luke SUCKS!”

She pushes around Luke’s BFF Alastair (Scout Flint) as well — treats him like a USDA Grade A slice of meat, too.

“Why don’t you give us a little ‘hunky boy’ spin?”

The hole is where they find this giant amulet thing with a glowing gem in its center.

“Is that a coffin? Is THIS where they buried Grandma?”

No, that’s a charm that’s kept “a nameless evil” whose escape would mean “doom for all existence.” And you know kids. They let him out.

When he emerges, in all his giant-sized Satanic Demon glory, he doubles down on that “nameless” thing, as “No name can encompass my Dark Will!”

He says stuff like that, and “Is that fear I smell?” Prepare for “the sweet release of death!” He kills and destroys at will, but that doesn’t phase Mimi.

“SHUT it!” She proceeds to name him Psycho Goreman, PG for short. And as she has that “Gem of Proxidite” thing that they used to unleash him, PG (Matthew Ninaber) has to take it.

Those who imprisoned PG, The Templars, have to send Pandora Warrior Princess (Kristen MacCulloch) to fetch him. PG summons his “Palladins” to defend himself, and take care of the “two brainless meat children” so that he can be truly free.

Can Mimi keep him in line, keep the peace and keep “all the hunky boys” out of PG’s clutches?

“I do not care for Hunky Boys!”

“PG” sprints out of the gate with childish whimsy, goofy dialogue and spectacularly inventive monster costumes. PG has a hint of The Creature from the Black Lagoon about him, Pandora’s made up like the God George Lucas’s Storm Troopers would worship, or have pin-ups of in the barracks.

There’s one creature that looks like a glass windowed pressure cooker that Oscar the Gory Grouch lives in (We see blood and entrails bubbling out the top, and through that window.).

The acting is deadpan passable. The jokes are childish — little kids making an “existence” ending monster play “Knock, Knock,” the monster taking out his frustration by only introducing one of the “two brainless meat children” to his minions.

“This is Mimi….and her brother.”

Yes, it gets gassed about a half hour in, with things not picking up much until the Big Finale.

But those who like this sort of thing — horror played for laughs, a cult-movie by design — will surely find this the sort of thing they like.

MPA Rating: unrated, profanity and uh, gore

Cast: Nita-Josee Hanna, Owen Myre, Matthew Ninaber, Kristen MacCulloch and Adam Brooks

Credits: Directed by Steven Kostanski, script by An RLJE release.

Running time: 1:35

Not every film that’s all about a menage a trois aims to be the next “Jules et Jim.”

Some have a hint of “Summer Lovers” or “Y Tu Mama Tambien” about them, and so go for playful “Vicky Cristina Barcelona” touches.

But when they’re shot in black and white and when the story is bathed in poetically pretentious French voice over narration, you know somebody fell in love with the François Truffaut classic.

So, cinematographer Svetlana Cvetko (“Red Army,” “All Things Must Pass” and “O.J.: Made in America”) — “Show Me What You Got.“

She co-wrote and directed this Gen Z romance of three free spirits who meet, hook up and take “group hug” to the next level in Los Angeles. It’s a lovely, somewhat empty affair, crowned as it is with that French narration that underscores the events, actions and thoughts of those we see on screen.

Marcello (Mattia Minasi) is a vapid Italian pretty boy, son of a soap star and in Los Angeles on Daddy’s credit card to get away from a clingy girlfriend. Dad arranges all these meetings with agents and deal-makers, pitching reality series and the like at the kid. But the tantrum-tossing “freeloader” can’t be bothered to show up for all of them.

“Life is all about good times,” is his credo, as related by our French femme narrator.

Nassim (Neyssan Falahi) is a Franco-Iranian/American hipster hunk Marcello meets on the Malibu pier. Nassim is a martial artist and workout coach and would-be/might-be actor. He’s getting nowhere.

“He realizes that LA wouldn’t notice if he was gone,” the narrator reveals.

They strike up a conversation, as young guys do, and do a little mock sparring, as young guys only in the movies do. That’s how they end up in the Back on the Beach Cafe, spilling ice on waitress Cristina (Cristina Rambaldi).

She flirts and bats her eyes, “curious if they will follow her blindly” into the LA evening. Damned if they don’t, which is convenient because Marcello has a rented SUV and the credit cards that will finance their adventures and coming love affair.

Cristina has been sleeping under her grandpa’s bed at the nursing home, and he’s just died. Nassim has been couch-surfing.

Marcello isn’t just attractive to them both. He’s loaded. So they’re off, seeing the city, visiting an art installation at Joshua Tree and sharing a bed, shower or what have you whenever the opportunity arises.

The two guys are lumps — aimless Marcello, barked at by his fed-up parents, gig economy Nassim urged home to Tehran by family. Cristina is a classic LA “type.” She rescues dogs and discarded house plants, goes to all the right protest marches, makes art and takes photos “to show my grandpa” what she’s doing and who she’s with — even though he’s dead.

There’s enough here for a movie, but just barely — three young people with nothing tying them down seeking “life filled with support and no judgement.”

But we know that “their bliss can continue, if only for a short time more.” Because the narrator says so. That narrator just won’t shut up.

The experienced but undiscovered cast is interesting, but the characters barely have enough going on to draw us in. The situations — save for their Joshua Tree jaunt — are trite and barely hold the attention. The friction that creates drama is generally on the other end of a phone line — Nassim and Marcello each hearing from parents who want/need them to do something with their lives, preferably someplace other than Los Angeles. The three lovers? They get along, seemingly without jealousy.

It’s all lovely to look at, as you’d expect from a movie directed by a camera operator/DP. But it has all the nutritional value of an orchid blossom.

That makes “Show Me” a film festival movie, the sort of thin entertainment that only warrants attention in that rarefied air. Anything narrated in French passes muster with that crowd, no matter how pretentious or trivial. But outside that environment, in the harsh light of day, this hothouse flower wilts.

MPA Rating: unrated, nudity, sex, profanity, marijuana use

Cast: Cristina Rambaldi, Neyssan Falahi, Mattia Minasi

Credits: Directed by Svetlana Cvetko, script by Svetlana Cvetko, David Scott Smith. A Level Forward/Synkronized release.

Running time: 1:38

As paranoid thrillers go, “Sightless” isn’t half bad before it — pardon me — loses its way. And even after that, it manages a moment or two even as it frustrates you with its many blown possibilities.

The story of a concert violinist blinded in a seemingly random attack ,who starts to wonder if it was random at all during a strange “arranged” convalescence, the debut feature of writer-director Cooper Karl gets all wrapped up in its implied conspiracy, in “the mystery.”

And then, in resolving that mystery, it goes completely off the rails. I mean, we can’t expect “Wait Until Dark” or “In Darkness” every time out. But come on.

Madelaine Petsch of TV’s “Riverdale” stars as Ellen, battered and sprayed in the face in an attack that leaves her blind. She can’t get a hint of “Who DID this to me?” from the cop (Jarrod Crawford) on her case, or anybody else.

But her brother overseas arranges for a caregiver and a new apartment “downtown” (Seattle). And this new guy, Clayton (Alexander Koch of “Black Bear”) is all empathy and expertise when it comes to dealing with how to condition someone for a new life without sight — giving her that first cane, instructing her on text-to-voice/voice-to-text emailing, etc.

But lost in her head, Ellen ponders who might have a grudge against her, or her ex-husband. She wonders why she can’t reach her best friend, Sasha. Brother Easton is still in Japan and hasn’t come home to help.

“I can’t get ahold of…ANYone!”

And with her new heightened focus on sound, Ellen wonders about the background noises she hears and the creepy stuff going on next door. Lana (December Ensminger) and Russo (Lee Jones) are having…problems. Is Clayton her savior, she wonders? Or she should trust him at all?

Clever touches include the way Ellen imagines this or that person as she speaks to them and visualizes the new world surrounding her. Might a violinist have more acute hearing?

Clayton’s suggestion that her world’s images can be “whatever you want” now seems neither helpful nor on the up and up.

Koch gives us a hint of mystery if not menace as the caregiver, and Petsch plays petulant diva well enough.

But writer-director Karl doesn’t make the imagined threats palpable and the peril logical in the least. News flash, shouting “I can hear you BREATHING” is not going to save you from an intruder when you’re a petite fiddle player.

And that finale… Somebody’s been watching Christopher Nolan pictures and not taking away the right lessons in plot twist tricks from them.

MPA Rating: TV-14, violence

Cast: Madelaine Petsch, Alexander Koch, December Ensminger and Lee Jones.

Credits: Scripted and directed by Cooper Karl. A MarVista film on Netflix

Running time: 1:29