Trunkfish

I wouldn't call this a comedy. There some comedic parts in it but this is more in the area of tragicomedy. The performances are bit stilted but overall a good movie...

Its everything that made American Beauty creepy without anything that made it redeemable. Poor script leads to poor ending that I'm not sure what I'm supposed to think about leads to a poor movie. Poor acting by most involved, but Dennis and Katherine do good jobs and I guess you can say that if anything makes this movie worth watching its them.

I like finding indies to watch and a lot of the time they turn out really great but other than a couple of decent moments this was silly and a bit of a letdown after seeing the user reviews.

If you're hunting for an indie drama that aims for American Beauty but ends up feeling like a cheap float left too long in the sun, welcome to Trunkfish. Directed and written by John Kviklys, the film clocks in at a brisk 82 minutes. What works: its ambition and occasional glimmers of dark comedy. Some Letterboxd fans praised "very convincing lead performances" and described it as a "fine indie movie resting on lead work." But here's the catch: style over substance. The wife is attractive and plays her role well, but her chemistry with her husband? It's like they're from different casting calls. He might remind you of a Temu-quality Steve Buscemi clone-goofy eyes, awkward charm, but no spark. Together, they come off less like a real couple and more like roommates thrown together in a Craigslist comedy. The premise dips into suburban ennui, porn obsession, fantasy therapy boxes, and a teenage neighbor, but it never surfaces into anything deeper. Instead it swims in familiar waters and fails to make waves, wrapping up more like a curiosity you'd snag at the $1 bin at Walmart. If you want edgy, uncomfortable territory-cuckolding, obsession, moral collapse-it delivers, and some viewers called it a "dark comedy cum morality tale". But it lacks the resonance of better films in the genre. Final take: Trunkfish is polite in trying, occasionally interesting in its discomfort, but far too shallow to hit the depths it seeks. Still, at a lean 82 minutes, it's not painful-just a quirky indie misfire that leaves you thinking: "Well, cheaper than therapy... and definitely cheaper than dinner and a movie.

... with a sex partner the likes of a Jessica Dawn Willis, if you're having problems in the bedroom, 99 out of a 100 problem's you, and you're in dire need of a shrink (or Viagra, or both)

... acting comically can be difficult, in this movie they both are making looking at them difficult... nothing's funny or enjoyable watching, and for the entire time you just want it to be over

... rated little over a four on IMDb, that's about right... so Trunkfish wasn't to work for her, really would like to see JDW in something else to see if it's just that she hasn't any talent, cause she is definitely alluring-appearing-otherwise.

Every now and then, a movie comes along with a concept so promising that you can't help but root for it. Trunkfish, a 2021 release that bills itself as a mix of psychological drama and quirky dark comedy, is exactly that sort of film. Unfortunately, while the idea behind it is commendable, the execution is an uneven mess that leaves viewers scratching their heads. And while we're on the subject of head-scratching, one thing that defies all logic is the central conceit of the movie: how anyone could ever take the gorgeous, practically luminous wife character for granted.

Let's start with the basics. The story revolves around Neil (played with a surprising lack of charisma by Ben Hall), a middle-aged man in a creative rut. A marine biologist by trade, Neil becomes obsessed with the trunkfish, a peculiar species that can inflate itself as a defense mechanism. Neil sees this fish as a metaphor for human relationships-fragile, reactive, and endlessly misunderstood. His fixation leads him to alienate his stunningly beautiful wife, Grace (portrayed by Lana Devereaux, whose sheer presence single-handedly carries half the film).

The movie's central conflict is Neil's growing inability to connect with Grace, a subplot so utterly baffling that it threatens to derail the entire film. Grace isn't just attractive in the conventional sense-she's magnetic. The camera lingers on her in soft lighting as she cooks, lounges, and, in one memorable scene, dismantles a stubborn espresso machine with an effortless elegance that feels almost otherworldly. It's no exaggeration to say that she's presented as the ideal partner-intelligent, funny, supportive, and drop-dead gorgeous. So when Neil retreats into his increasingly bizarre trunkfish experiments rather than cherish his wife, it strains credulity to the breaking point.

In fact, much of the movie feels like an elaborate exercise in making the audience shout at the screen, "Why would anyone ignore her?!" Devereaux's performance is a revelation, imbuing Grace with a warmth and sensuality that makes her not only likable but also central to the audience's emotional investment in the story. The problem is that the movie doesn't seem to realize its own strengths. Instead of exploring Grace's character or giving her any agency, the narrative keeps circling back to Neil's brooding mediocrity.

Thematically, Trunkfish wants to be about existential dissatisfaction and the fragile balance of human connection. But it never fully commits to either its emotional core or its quirkier elements. The humor feels half-baked, with jokes about Neil's trunkfish obsession falling flat more often than not. At the same time, the dramatic moments feel unearned, as Neil's emotional arc is too shallow to resonate.

And yet, there are glimpses of what the movie could have been. A handful of scenes-mostly involving Grace-capture a genuine emotional depth. One standout moment sees Grace confronting Neil about his detachment, a raw and powerful monologue that reminds the audience of what's at stake. It's a shame that this energy isn't sustained throughout the film.

Visually, Trunkfish has its moments. The underwater sequences, where Neil loses himself in the world of his aquatic obsession, are beautifully shot and provide a stark contrast to the mundane domestic scenes. The cinematography does its best to elevate the material, but even stunning visuals can't save a story that feels as though it's constantly swimming in circles.

Ultimately, Trunkfish is a movie that flounders under its own ambition. The idea of using a peculiar fish as a metaphor for human relationships is clever, but the execution is muddled and frustrating. The film's saving grace-both literally and figuratively-is Lana Devereaux's magnetic performance as Grace. If nothing else, Trunkfish serves as a showcase for her talent, beauty, and undeniable screen presence.

But here's the bottom line: Trunkfish asks you to believe that someone could be indifferent to a wife as remarkable as Grace, and that's a suspension of disbelief too far for most viewers. If you're looking for a movie with an intriguing concept and a luminous lead actress, Trunkfish might be worth a watch. Just don't expect it to live up to its potential-or explain why anyone would ever take Grace for granted.