7 Chinese Brothers

Larry (Jason Schwartzman) is a slacker with little ambition. He works a menial job at the oil change garage. He has his dog. He is joined by his grandmother (Olympia Dukakis). His friend Major Norwood gets him his drugs.

It's Schwartzman doing his slacker thing. For his fans, this may be interesting. Indie filmmaker Robert Byington is not strictly mumblecore. His dialog is not mumble but it has much of the indie sensibilities. In the end, there isn't much going on with this character. It's hard to tell if he cares or is he just scared like when he runs out on a sure thing with a girl. It makes it hard to care about him.

This film is a case study on why film criticism exists, to separate the chaff of it from the wheat it pretends as.

Neither an evolution nor simulcrum of Lost in Translation, Office Space, or Bottle Rocket, this extended screen test of Jason Schwartzman inhabiting deep suburban environs as a narcissist layabout was likely pitched to distributors as a mashup of all three.

Writer-director Bob Byington begins with an old R.E.M. song, 7 Chinese Brothers. This song, from the band's Reckoning album, was naught but a prank; it was Michael Stipe singing the liner notes to a random gospel LP he'd found laying around, which the studio engineer mistakenly recorded, and which the band, finding the track's accidental provenance hilarious, formed into a nondescript, mildly jangly tune.

Does this near non-song by R.E.M. inform Byington's film in any measure? No, except that he cues the song at the end credits so that the key grips might have a mildly jangly ruffle and flourish behind their accrediture.

From the song Byington derives the title, and upon the meaningless title Byington builds no story whatsoever, and by no story I mean not even a Seinfeldian non-story proposition.

Jason Schwartzman is the lead as "Larry." Schwartzman, who is a celebrity and a very good actor, and who might perpetually attract some long-tail audience interested in watching him do anything--say, selling peanuts in a ballpark vendor's uniform-- for a duration of 76 minutes, is required by Byington to move in and out of bland sets (a quik lube garage, a dingy convenience store) and make slight actions (throw a hat at a Mazda, deny your grandmother a sip from a Big Gulp) that are supposed to stand in for the plot or un- plot as it were. Nothing worth filming, nothing that would be worth filming by students, is there.

These are petty crimes against cinema Byington is caught at, but that should be no taint against Schwartzman, who screen tests as plumly as ever, or indeed against Tunde Adebimpe or Eleanor Pienta, who check in as friendly companions who join us in wondering just what is supposed to be fascinating about a character who is simultaneously so self-possessed and so lacking in initiative of thought, credible emotion, or stirrings.

Rather than screening this movie, Schwartzman enthusiasts are better off hunting down Hotel Chevalier and spending the time gained from unspent viewing balancing their checkbooks.

Sometimes you watch a film and wonder to yourself 'what were they thinking when they made this movie?!'--such was my reaction when I watched this new and oddly named film starring Jason Schwartzman. Bob Byington wrote and directed this strange movie and it's one that left me confused and bored.

When the film begins, Larry (Schwartzman) is a complete slacker and a bit of a loser. He's just lost a job because he was caught stealing and he doesn't seem to care in the least. What he does care about are drinking, taking drugs and his dog (incidentally, this French Bulldog is actually Schwartzman's dog in real life). Later, when he gets a job in a quick lube store, you keep expecting Larry to somehow show that down deep he's capable of change and will become responsible and likable...which never really happens in any meaningful way. He is, throughout the entire film, a jerk who has serious issues and who doesn't seem to care about this nor does he see much of a need to change. There is a tiny change at the end...but clearly not enough to offer any real hope for the guy cleaning himself up and achieving something with his life.

This film is quirky...almost in a Wes Anderson sort of way, which is what I expected since Schwartzman frequently appears in Anderson's films. However, the quirkiness isn't humorous...just quirky and the film never really resonates with the audience. It's strange...just to be strange. And this soon becomes tedious. Had this been a short film, it might have been an interesting character study. But at 90 minutes and with a leading character you cannot help but dislike the film dragged. No sense of reason for all this seemed evident to me at any point. A clear misfire and I can see why this film went to straight to DVD very quickly. If you care, it's out this week but I wouldn't rush to see it unless you are a die-hard Schwartzman fan or you like long and ponderous films.

Cause it really doesn't have much of a plot, and the little that resembles a plot doesn't seem to make a ton of sense.

It's basically about a self-absorbed 'loser' who played by someone else other than Jason Swartzman would probably be tedious.

But Jason's natural charm and charisma redeems the character somewhat from feeling like a total prick and the 'movie' from being a total trainwreck.

I write movie as 'movie' because it really doesn't feel like a movie, it feels like maybe it would have worked better as a TV series split up to 3 parts instead (although I'm not sure that people would tune in every week to see the next episode).

There are some okay scenes, mainly the ones between Jason and his (also real life pet) dog, they have better chemistry together than Jason has with any of his human co-stars in the movie.

So I would only remotely recommend this to hardcore Jason fans who has to see everything he's in, if you're not too fussy about him give it a skip, if you dislike him then well you will without a doubt hate it.

Friday night of this week, my friend, DF, got a bowl of Paomo at what I determine to be a very good Chinese restaurant. Upon receiving the brothy meat with breed, he noted that the smell was something between garbage and vaginal. He ate three quarters of the bowl and when we walked later in the night, he kept logging higher levels of dream-like status. Barring the full range of after-effects, 7 Chinese Brothers was sort of like the soup: smelled rank, I ate it anyway, and left feeling sort of tired.

Comedy? This one was reaching for dolorous, had a few risible moments a la the man and his dog plot line, and then wound down.