Jaunt: A captivating little journey

Jaunt (2024) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five); not rated, and akin to PG-13 for sensuality, brief nudity and profanity

Available via: Amazon Prime and other VOD options

By Derrick Bang

Folks with a fondness for California’s scenic coastline will get a kick out of this film.

 

Writer/director Alexi Papalexopoulos’ accomplished feature debut is a road trip in both the physical and spiritual sense: a Golden State journey with well-chosen stops both scenic and touristy.

 

While pausing their California coastal drive for some quiet time on a beach, Madeline
(Emanuela Boisbouvier) listens attentively while Paul (Blake Worrell) begins to
acknowledge the mess that he has made of his life.

Middle-aged, shambling Paul Wesson (Blake Worrell) is introduced at low ebb in his unkempt West Hollywood apartment, laden with dirty dishes, food containers and dead plants. He looks like he hasn’t gotten out much since the COVID epidemic, and — on this average morning — attends a therapy “session” online, rather than in person.

The kind face in the screen obviously has urged Paul, repeatedly, to get outside and jog the nearby Runyon Canyon hiking trail: a modest 2.8-mile ascent with lavish views from Inspiration Point and Clouds Rest. (Papalexopoulos’ film was shot entirely on location, with Luka Bazeli handling the often majestic cinematography.)

 

This time, finally — annoyed by his expanding paunch — Paul goes for it. He manages a half-hearted jog/walk to the first lookout point; he arrives panting, as though he might pass out any moment. At which point (we heave a disapproving sigh), he bums a cigarette from the only other person present: a twentysomething French woman, sitting on a bench and chatting on her phone.

 

To his surprise, she isn’t put off by his appearance. Her gaze is playful, her smile amused; she explains that, in France, it’s customary to exchange small talk for as long as shared cigarettes burn. 

 

She’s Madeline (Emanuela Boisbouvier), a free spirit who has come to California because, well, that’s what some Europeans yearn to do. Paul makes vague references to a former career as a photographer, and maker of low-budget movies. He surprises himself by impulsively inviting her to dinner; she accepts. He shares his address; they part ... and then he remembers what his apartment looks like.

 

Cue a droll montage of frantic cleaning.

 

Alas, his chosen restaurant unexpectedly is closed for the evening. Having learned that Paul knows how to cook, Madeline insists they simply return for a meal at his place. They eat, chat, dance, flirt and wind up in bed.

 

The Baltimorons: Quirky and adorable

The Baltimorons (2025) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated R, for profaity

Available via: Amazon Prime and other VOD options

By Derrick Bang

Director Jay Duplass’ offbeat little charmer isn’t merely a rom-com focused on two lonely people who deserve better out of life; it’s also a love letter to Baltimore ... specifically, Baltimore on Christmas Eve.

 

Having navigated a string of minor crises, if not always gracefully — with more to come —
Cliff (Michael Strassner) and Didi (Liz Larsen) take a few minutes to stroll along a
gaily decorated neighborhood street.

No surprise, since Duplass co-wrote the script with Michael Strassner, who regards the city as his home turf.

As one-half of Duplass Brothers Productions, Jay and sibling Mark have delivered a string of off-beat indie films and television series, wearing multiple hats as directors, producers, writers and even actors. This is the first film Jay has directed in more than a decade.

 

He certainly hasn’t lost his touch.

 

The Baltimorons has echoes of Martin Scorsese’s darkly comic 1985 farce, After Hours, but with several key distinctions. Duplass’ touch here is much kinder and gentler, and the two primary characters are warm and relatable.

 

If not necessarily right away.

 

The saga opens with a fleeting prologue shocker, as an obviously inebriated Cliff (Michael Strassner) clumsily attempts to take his life. 

 

Flash-forward half a year, to early Christmas Eve, as a now-sober Cliff makes plans to spend the day with the family of his fiancée, Brittany (Olivia Luccardi). She obviously has the patience of a saint, having nurtured and stood by him after the earlier crisis; that said, she’s also the worst sort of helicopter companion, monitoring his every choice and move, ensuring that he never again gets near any alcohol.

 

She even tracks his phone, and immediately calls if he’s not where she thinks he should be.

 

Luccardi plays her as compassionate and well-meaning, but also much too pushy. We understand her concern, but at the same time wince at her smothering attentiveness.

 

Poor Cliff, still guilty over what he put her through, accepts this hovering because he feels it’s the right thing to do ... but he’s clearly miserable. As introduced, Strassner makes him a large, forlorn teddy bear: shoulders slumped, morose expressions, forced smiles and wisecracks rather than serious conversations.

 

He comes by the latter naturally, since his longtime love is improv comedy. But Brittany has made him give that up, since it went hand-in-hand with his alcoholism; by way of catering to the demand that he find something else to do, Cliff is studying to be a mortgage broker. (Like that’ll ever happen.)

 

The point is, she’s forcing him to become something he finds alien ... and that isn’t a recipe for lifetime happiness.

The Map that Leads to You: Ultimately preposterous

The Map that Leads to You (2025) • View trailer

Three stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for sexual candor, partial nudity and brief profanity

Available via: Amazon Prime

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 9.1.25

Seasoned travelers possessing a healthy dose of caution and self-preservation will have a hard time with this film’s first act, during which the story’s three young American college graduates foolishly abandon carefully established plans in favor of hooking up with random hunky guys.

 

Despite postponing her return to New York by two weeks, to work on her deepening
relationship with Jack (KJ Apa), Heather (Madelyn Cline) cannot get him to be
entirely candid about himself.

I mean, what could go wrong, eh?

Heather (Madelyn Cline) is the meticulous organizer: keeper of the itinerary, and the de facto mother hen who ensures they make all their necessary connections. Connie (Sofia Wylie) is laid back and goes with the flow. Amy (Madison Thompson), reeling from a recent break-up, is a reckless idiot who forever runs late.

 

One does wonder how they’ve managed to remain friends, as they approach the final few days of a European vacation that began in Amsterdam and — when we meet them — concludes with a few days in Barcelona. 

 

Their dynamic undoubtedly is better established in Joseph Monniger’s 2017 novel, upon which this film is based; the Leslie Bohem/Vera Herbert screenplay gets off to a rushed and clumsy start. (In fairness, the trio’s strong bond is depicted better, as the story proceeds.)

 

Even so, the early meet-cute between Heather and Jack (KJ Apa) is genuinely sweet, during an overnight train to Barcelona, as they bond over identical copies of Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises.

 

Texas-born Heather has organized this gal-pal getaway before she begins a banking career in New York City. She takes comfort in plans and predictability, likely in response to having been abandoned by her mother when 10 years old.

 

Jack charms his way into their group, bringing good friend Raef (Orlando Norman) into the mix; the latter clicks with Connie. An eye-rollingly lunatic misadventure follows, after which the story settles into its anticipated focus on Heather and Jack. He’s following in the footsteps of a European tour journal meticulously written and illustrated by his long-gone great-grandfather Russell, who embraced a free-spirited existence after barely surviving his World War II service.

 

That’s a captivating notion, and director Lasse Hallström frequently blends the live action with glimpses of Russell’s sketches, and narrated passages from the journal.

 

Jack emulates his great-grandfather’s come-what-may approach to each day, resisting Heather’s initially surprised — and soon probing — questions about his refusal to think about the future. He prefers “being present” in each moment. His affable smile and laid-back charisma notwithstanding, Jack is evasive to the point of unease. 

Winter Spring Summer or Fall: A romantic charmer

Winter Spring Summer or Fall (2024) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated R, for teen drug and alcohol use, and brief profanity

Available via: Amazon Prime and other VOD options

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 8.31.25

Ever since writer John Hughes started what became a popular sub-genre with Pretty in Pink and Some Kind of Wonderful, back in the late 1980s, one or two similarly witty, dialogue-heavy and sharply observed young romance films — blessed with similarly charismatic stars — have arrived every decade.

 

After initially failing to click, Remi (Jenna Ortega) and Barnes (Percy Hynes White)
gradually begin to enjoy each other's company. But can their relationship survive two
divergent career paths?

Before Sunrise (and its two sequels) and Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist immediately spring to mind.

This one belongs in their company.

 

Dan Schoffer’s cleverly structured narrative — which owes a nod to Alan Alda’s The Four Seasons — is matched by Tiffany Paulsen’s noteworthy feature directorial debut. Her touch is just right with each character, although she’s fortunate that stars Jenna Ortega and Percy Hynes White already share combustible chemistry. 

 

Although films of this sort are by nature fantasies, they work when we become invested in the characters; that happens quickly here.

 

(Fair warning: Viewers inclined toward cynical smirks and rolled eyes are advised to seek their pleasure elsewhere.)

 

High School senior Barnes Hawthorne (Hynes White) spots Remi Aguilar (Ortega) one winter day, while visiting his friend P.J. (Elias Kacavas), who lives across the street from her. P.J. explains that the young woman is super-smart, and has just completed a Google Fellowship interview. Barnes’ expression is thoughtful, his gaze intrigued.

 

Later that day, Barnes and Remi wind up on the same train; he’s attending a concert in New York, and she has an appointment to tour Columbia University. After some initial awkwardness — “I’m not a stalker,” he somewhat ineptly insists — they begin chatting, and share plans following their completion of high school. She intends to attend Harvard and become a lawyer, like her parents; he desires an unspecified gap year.

 

Little realizing that it makes her sound pushy, Remi suggests that he could use the time productively, by volunteering with sea turtles or working with a music group. (She comes by this behavior naturally, as we’ll discover after spending some time with her parents.) Barnes, sensing things aren’t working, counters by extoling the virtues of David Byrne and the Talking Heads.

 

Despite some mildly graceless conversational misfires, Barnes keeps trying. Alas, matters take an unfortunate turn after they disembark, and the already weak connection is severed.

 

Jane Austen Wrecked My Life: A gentle homage

Jane Austen Wrecked My Life (2024) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated R, for nudity, sexual content and occasional profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 6.1.25

How can you not adore a film whose protagonist works in a bookstore?

 

And not just any bookstore. Agathe (Camille Rutherford) is one of several employees at France’s fabled Shakespeare & Co. (an actual English-language bookstore opened in 1951, on Paris’ Left Bank). She’s introduced while filing books late one evening, dancing buoyantly to Marie Modiano’s sparkling cover of Peter von Poehl’s “Cry to Me.”

 

During a Jane Austen-style costume ball suffused with Regency-era atmosphere,
Agathe (Camille Rutherford) finds herself unexpectedly attracted to the initially
stuffy Oliver (Charlie Anson)

It soon becomes clear that the bookstore is more “home” to Agathe than the flat she shares with her sister and 8-year-old nephew. Agathe is damaged goods, having failed to recover from the traffic accident that killed both her parents, but left her physically unharmed. She’s shy and withdrawn, bicycles to and from work, and hasn’t had an intimate relationship in two years.

Agathe adores the works of Jane Austen, and is herself a would-be author ... but this, too, is a frustration. Each new effort at a novel yields a few unpromising chapters, and then she stalls.

 

Félix (Pablo Pauly), her best friend and co-worker, is her polar opposite: bold, outgoing and cheerfully promiscuous. He and Agathe flirt constantly, but without significance.

 

“I’m not into Uber sex,” she laments, and — given that her blueprint for romance is found solely within the pages of Austen’s novels — adds that she’s “living in the wrong century.” She compares herself to Anne Elliot, from Austen’s Persuasion, who has “let life pass her by.”

 

Then, one day, literary inspiration strikes from the bottom of a cup of saké. She pounds out a few chapters, but then the well again goes dry. The difference, this time, is that Félix deems those first chapters very promising; he wants to know what happens next ... but Agathe is stuck.

 

Without her knowledge, Félix sends those chapters to England’s Jane Austen Residency, an exclusive annual writers’ workshop. Agathe is accepted, which throws her into a panic; she certainly can’t bicycle that far. Félix won’t let her balk; he hustles her onto a ferry, and she’s met at the other end by the very British Oliver (Charlie Anson), Jane Austen’s great-great-great-nephew, who has been sent to collect her. 

 

Which involves a long drive in his very small sports car.

 

As first encounters go, it’s a disaster. Among his many (apparent) failings, Oliver insists that his great-great-great aunt is “overrated.” 

 

Once at the residency, Agathe is greeted by Oliver’s parents, Beth (Liz Crowther) and Todd (Alan Fairbairn). The former is gracious and bubbly; the latter, sliding into dementia, has a habit of quoting poetry in their lavish estate’s garden ... sans pants.

 

The residency will last a fortnight, during which the attendees are encouraged to write whenever and wherever — within the estate, or on its grounds — the Muse strikes. The workshop will conclude with a lavish, Regency-era ball, after which the writers will read portions of their work aloud.

 

They’re a tiny group. The pompous Olympia (Lola Peploe) arrogantly dismisses Agathe’s belief that “some books become part of our lives,” instead insisting that books aren’t worth a damn unless they elevate consciousness, incite political upheaval, or change the world in some other way. The quieter Chéryl (Annabelle Lengronne) is more accommodating.

 

As the days pass, Agathe frequently sees Olympia and Chéryl hard at work ... while she stares forlornly at her laptop screen.

Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy — Love's labors are delightfully messy

Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy (2025) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated R, for sexual candor and constant profanity

Available via: Peacock

By Derrick Bang

I’d forgotten how much fun Helen Fielding’s ditzy singleton could be, when the author is at the top of her game.

 

When invited to share her job as a television producer during her son's classroom career
day, Bridget (Renée Zellweger) uses the opportunity to stage what becomes a revealing
"mock interview" with science teacher Scott Walker (Chiwetel Ejiofor).

This fourquel also brings the film series to a satisfying conclusion, since the previous entry — 2016’s Bridget Jones’ Baby — was such an unsatisfying detour.

The entire gang is back, and the script — by Fielding, Dan Mazer and Abi Morgan — is sharp, witty and laden with Bridget’s hilariously arch inner thoughts (which also become the diary entries that fueled Fielding’s first novel). Renée Zellweger still knows how to deliver a well-timed zinger, and her bemused, squinty expressions, head slightly cocked, are endearing.

 

This film’s surprise — for fans who’ve come to expect a light, frothy and playfully erotic tone — is its bittersweet atmosphere. 

 

As the story begins, Bridget is a sadder and wiser woman. She still mourns the loss of beloved husband Mark Darcy (Colin Firth), who was killed by a land mine in Sudan four years earlier, while negotiating the release of aid workers. She still “sees” him at telling moments (which gives Firth several significant and poignant scenes).

 

Bridget has withdrawn from life, to the extent a single parent of two young children can do so. She hasn’t socialized for any reason in ages. Her home is a mess; the refrigerator and grocery shelves are mostly empty; preparing meals is an exercise in unpalatable results; and she spends far too much time in pajamas. She also hasn’t worked for a long time (which makes one wonder what she and her children are living on).

 

Six-year-old Mabel (Mila Jankovic) is an irrepressible bundle of energy, laughter and noise; 10-year-old Billy (Casper Knopf), much quieter, withdraws into chess, science books and video games.

 

But a gathering to celebrate Mark’s life cannot be avoided, even though Bridget almost chickens out. Faithful friend and former lover Daniel Cleaver (Hugh Grant), willingly pressed into last-minute babysitting duties, laments that “You’re effectively a nun ... although a very naughty nun.”

 

(Seriously ... Bridget isn’t Bridget, without constant references to sex!)

We Live in Time: One for the ages

We Live in Time (2023) • View trailer

Five stars (out of five). Rated R for profanity, nudity and sexual candor

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 11.3.24

This is an eye-opening marvel: an absolutely perfect marriage of shrewd writing, skilled direction and transcendent performances.

 

Still blissed out after their first night together, Tobias (Andrew Garfield) and Almut
(Florence Pugh) pause on their respective sides of her closed apartment door,
and quietly contemplate what might come next.

The result is a romantic drama against which all others must be compared, and found superficial and unsatisfying.

Actually, “romantic drama” is too simple a descriptor. Director John Crowley and scripter Nick Payne have concocted a captivating experience that is equal parts drama, comedy, tragedy and several other elements so intricately interwoven, that the sum is far greater than its marvelous parts.

 

All brought to solemn, cheerful, cute, catastrophic and intensely intimate life by stars Florence Pugh and Andrew Garfield.

 

We meet Britishers Almut (Pugh) and Tobias (Garfield) as they confront a life-altering decision. She has an immediate response that would involve serious consequences; he’s more cautious and uncertain. These contrasting reactions are, we soon will learn, what initially — and continuously — defines their relationship.

 

They drive home in silence, but before we can process what just occurred, we’re yanked into Tobias’ life at another point in time: alone in a hotel room, faced with documents that must be signed. The immediate uncertainty — past or future? — establishes the means by which Crowley and Payne present this saga: as snapshots from a relationship that has spanned a decade, and (we soon realize) are being remembered in the present day.

 

To quote the film’s production notes, this is how we experience love: “in fits and starts, outside linear logic, in fleeting but indelible moments that are gorgeous, funny, high anxiety, delirious, sad and revelatory ... sometimes all at once.”

 

(Honestly, I couldn’t have said it better.)

 

I’ve generally not be impressed by films that capriciously bounce back and forth through time, like a frightened jackrabbit; the technique can be frustrating and annoying, and often doesn’t serve the story being told.

 

Crowley and Payne, however, pull it off with elegance.

 

When Tobias and Almut first meet, he’s the ultimate methodical, list-making wonk, climbing the corporate ladder at the Weetabix cereal and snack company. She’s an accomplished chef and co-owner of one of those posh London restaurants that serves meticulously garnished tiny portions that wouldn’t satisfy a starving rat. 

 

He knows what he wants, and pursues things with long-winded speeches that justify decisions; he wants children. She’s preternaturally multi-talented, and refuses to be pinned down ... while insisting on being granted the option of changing her mind. She doesn’t see herself with children.

My Old Ass: Poignant and deeply personal

My Old Ass (2024) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated R, for drug use, sexual candor and frequent profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 9.22.24

Canadian writer/director Megan Park’s new film is one of the summer’s sweetest surprises: a deeply moving, intimately emotional, and tartly humorous coming-of-age saga ... but not in the way you’d expect.

 

Although Elliott (Maisy Stella, left) doesn't initially believe that a mysterious newcomer
(Aubrey Plaza) is her older self, doubts are erased quickly ... which opens the door to
all manner of questions.

Park’s nuanced skill with interpersonal relationships is impressive. Every one of the nine key characters is well sculpted, and persuasive played by a roster of mostly unknown talent. Her unerring ear for dialogue is equally superb; no wrong notes are hit during the many relaxed chats, confessions and ruminations. The goofy, flirty and often profane banter, between the teenage protagonist and her friends, feels just as natural.

The crucial message — so simple, yet profound — is that life is full of change. We need to cherish every moment, because one never knows if it might be the last time in that place, or with those people, or enjoying a particular activity.

 

We’ve all thought it: If I knew then, what I know now, I’d have paid more attention.

 

All this said, Park presents this moral in a most unusual manner.

 

The time is present day, the setting Canada’s gorgeous Muskoka Lakes region, near the southern tip of Ontario, 140 miles above Toronto. The place practically screams youthful innocence; cinematographer Kristen Correll’s gorgeous tableaus could be framed and hung in prestigious museums.

 

Free-spirited Elliott (Maisy Stella), two weeks away from heading off to university, is making the most of each day with besties Ruthie (Maddie Ziegler) and Ro (Kerrice Brooks). They’re introduced in a small outboard boat, as Elliott motors them to a remote island, where she intends to celebrate her 18th birthday by tripping on mushrooms with them, and spending the night at their improvised campsite.

 

By doing so, she has blown off dinner with her family: her father Tom (Alain Goulem), mother Kathy (Maria Dizzia) and younger brothers Max (Seth Isaac Johnson) and Spencer (Carter Trozzolo). The family tableau is quietly awkward; they even baked a cake, which Spencer took pains to decorate.

 

(Elliott later insists that she informed her mother of these plans, and Kathy graciously acknowledges that may have been the case ... but it’s far more likely that the girl gave no thought to how her family might wish to celebrate her birthday with her.)

 

Between the Temples: Insufferable direction sabotages a sweet story

Between the Temples (2024) • View trailer

Three stars (out of five). Rated R, for profanity and explicit sexual references

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang

A tender, poignant love story is all but obliterated by the relentless barrage of stylistic tics and hiccups courtesy of director Nathan Silver, who — at times — has made his little film just this side of unwatchable.

 

When Carla (Carol Kane) has trouble properly pronouncing many of the Hebrew terms
in the bat mitzvah ceremony, Ben (Jason Schwartzman) helps by "playing" them
on a guitar.

Although the setting is modern-day upstate New York, the style is a throwback to 1960s cinema verité: grainy, 16mm film stock; claustrophobic settings, and a roving camera that follows the actors as if they were characters in a stage play; and Robert Altman-esque overlapping dialogue, which — because of the low budget and poor sound quality — often makes it damn difficult to understand what people are saying.

Worse yet, Silver and cinematographer Sean Price Williams favor tight-tight-tight close-ups to an ludicrous degree. I mean, seriously: Do we really need to zoom in on a woman’s mouth, as she eats some crackers? Along with an endless array of shots that show only portions of a given person’s face?

 

If all this clutter serves some artistic or symbolic purpose, it eludes me.

 

Jason Schwartzman stars as Ben Gottlieb, a small-town cantor at the local synagogue. He has lost his “bliss” following the tragic and untimely death of his wife, Ruth, a year earlier. Since then, he has been unable to sing ... and a synagogue cantor who can’t sing, is about as useless as the proverbial screen door on a submarine.

 

His two mothers, in an effort to bring him out of his funk — the doting, sympathetic Meira (Caroline Aaron) and overly stern and critical Judith (Dolly De Leon) — try to “solve” the problem by setting Ben up with an endless stream of inappropriate, sneak-attack blind dates.

 

The one we meet, as this film begins, is over-the-top bizarre in a manner that may have intended to be humorous, but Silver and co-scripter C. Mason Wells exaggerated her to the point of absurdity. Or maybe the actress in question improvised her brief scene. Either way, this prologue is so Out There, that it may prompt viewers to flee the theater.

 

Aaron’s Meira is the model mother: patient, sensitive to others, and always ready with a kind word. In great contrast, De Leon plays Judith as an cold-hearted, judgmental control freak ... which is ironic, since she and Meira likely faced their share of intolerance, during the early days of their relationship. It’s hard to think kindly of Judith.

It Ends with Us: Too dreamy to be true

It Ends with Us (2024) • View trailer

Three stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for sexual content, dramatic intensity, and fleeting profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 8.11.24

Lily (Blake Lively) and Ryle (Justin Baldoni) share a marvelous meet-cute encounter shortly after this romantic swooner begins.

 

Allysa (Jenny Slate, left) eventually learns to love flowers just as much as her new bestie,
Lily (Blake Lively), who has long dreamed of owning a trendy flower shop.

She has perched on the roof of a tall, trendy Boston apartment complex, contemplating her life. He blasts through the door, frustrated by the events of a ghastly day. 

They notice each other. (How could they not? They’re both incredibly gorgeous.) They make an effort at chatting, at first warily. The mood turns combustible, their smiles grow teasing, their banter increasingly flirty. It’s a classic Hollywood moment, the likes of which we don’t often see these days.

 

Alas, circumstances prompt Ryle to return to work, so they part.

 

That aside...

 

We also watched, during the preceding prologue, as Lily returned to her home town of Plethora, Maine, to attend her father’s funeral. She made a point of not visiting shortly before he died; now, poised to give a brief eulogy — the church laden with people honoring this great man, this pillar of the community — she balks, and flees without a word ... much to the embarrassed consternation of her mother, Jenny (Amy Morton).

 

Fans of Colleen Hoover’s 2016 romance novel, on which this film is based, will know what’s to come; they’ll watch for little details that’ll probably slip past unsuspecting viewers. 

 

But seriously; with a title like It Ends with Us, things can go only one of two ways ... right?

 

Jenny wants her only child to remain in Plethora, but Lily — her full name being Lily Blossom Bloom, an obvious strike against her parents — is determined to remain in Boston. Her lifelong goal: to open (what else?) a flower shop. She rents a dilapidated building, begins the herculean clean-up process, and has a second meet-cute encounter: this time with passerby Allysa (Jenny Slate), who has long wondered what the inside of this place looks like.

 

The two women spar playfully; Allysa confesses that she hates flowers, “because they’re dead.” (Lily finds this amusing.) Allysa nonetheless needs a job, and Lily needs help; what could be more perfect?

 

Where Lily and Ryle had instant sensual chemistry, Lily and Allysa quickly become as tight as mutually devoted sisters. Slate is delightful: bubbly, spontaneous, outgoing and — we soon learn — sharply observant. Allysa is married to Marshall (Hasan Minhaj), a similar force of nature, and Ryle happens to be her brother. (What a coincidence!)

 

Ryle then mounts the world’s most persistent wooing campaign, but Lily resists ... sort of. She’s determined to find love, whereas he prefers casual relationships.

The Greatest Hits: A most unusual love story

The Greatest Hits (2024) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for drug use, sexual candor and fleeting profanity

Available via: Hulu

By Derrick Bang

Writer/director Ned Benson’s beguiling little charmer expands upon a premise that’ll feel familiar to everybody: the power of a beloved song to take us back in time to where we were, and who with, the first time it was heard.

 

After a couple of chance encounters, sparks fly when Harriet (Lucy Boynton) and David
(Justin H. Min) playfully argue over who gets to purchase a rare, one-of-a-kind LP in
her favorite music store.

But in the case of Harriet (Lucy Boynton), the result isn’t merely a memory; she literally re-lives the few minutes when she first heard the tune with beloved boyfriend Max (David Corenswet).

This isn’t a happy ability. 

 

As revealed when this story begins — after Harriet, alone in her apartment, cues up The The’s aptly titled “This Is the Day,” on her fancy turntable — that tune was playing when she and Max were involved in a car accident. He died; she wound up in a coma for a week.

 

Upon wakening, she discovered — to her horror — that every tune she and Max ever heard, during their four years together, yanks her back to that particular moment of their relationship. Her past self’s awareness of this doesn’t help; we realize, from Harriet’s forlorn bearing, that she has tried many, many times to prevent the accident. And failed.

 

Two years have passed, during which Harriet has — as a means of self-preservation — cocooned herself into an isolated life. She has forsaken a once-budding career in music production, to work in the silence of a library. When not there, or at home, she wears noise-canceling headphones, in order to prevent accidentally overhearing a “trigger” song; if that happens, her present-day self goes into an unconscious trance ... which, obviously, could be dangerous.

 

Over time, she has catalogued scores of trigger songs that allow her, in the privacy of her apartment, to re-live happier moments with Max. But this is unhealthy, as it prevents her from processing grief; indeed, such sessions simply fuel her misery. Her only companion is the devoted little dog she “inherited” after the accident.

 

She always sits in an antique armchair, facing her system speakers, in a pose that cinematographer Chung-hoon Chung cheekily lifts from Maxell’s iconic 1980s “Blown-Away Guy” ads for audiocassettes. (I have to wonder how many of this film’s viewers will recognize the reference.)

 

Jamie XX’s “Loud Places” sends her back to the music festival when she and Max first met. Yellow Days’ “Gap in the Clouds” finds them during a romantic moment on an isolated beach. And so forth. (Benson’s film is wall-to-wall music; every song is carefully selected to add impact or irony to a given scene.)

 

It’s like a drug, and Harriet is hooked: “It’s so easy to be pulled back into the past.”