Tuesday, January 20, 2009


You twee-loving arrested-adolescent cutesy-wutesy hipster bullshit fucks. Fuck each and every last one of you. And get out of Brooklyn!!!

Thanks to Noel Murray for writing the review I've been wanting to read for quite some time. I heard about this flick a while back and it made me want to punch face. Glad to hear someone agrees.

Text bold by yours truly to accentuate the awesomeness of this review.

From the AV Club:

Paper Heart

Director: Nicholas Jasenovec (88 min.)
Cast: Charlyne Yi, Michael Cera, Jake Johnson
Headline: Alternative comedian goes looking for love, is unsure if she’s found it
Indie type: Faux-profound faux-doc

Report: Here’s another movie like Cold Souls in which the actors play “themselves” in a plot rooted in an abstract concept. Ostensibly a documentary about the existence of “love” and whether comedian/performance-artist/flibbertigibbet Yi will ever find a love of her own, Paper Heart cuts between scenes of Yi grilling everyday Americans about their romantic histories and scenes of her embarking on a new relationship with puppyish actor Michael Cera. Jasenovec and Yi want to play with the idea of documentary realism and human emotion, by showing scenes of genuine human interaction and then pulling back to reveal that they’re just “scenes.” But beyond the fact that this kind of “living in the camera eye” experiment has been done to death, Paper Heart fails because the very idea of making a playful documentary about whether love exists is, let’s be honest, incredibly dopey. (And I mean “dope” in every sense of the word.) And it doesn’t help that Yi comes off like every arrested-adolescent college sophomore who still carries a lunchbox and thinks kissing is icky, even though she’s still enamored of the idea of having a boyfriend (in an elementary school, passing-notes-at-lunch kind of way). True, those horrible, horrible people are very much a part of American life—they’re a byproduct of a culture in which growing the hell up has become less and less of a priority—but their habits and ways have been pretty well dissected in the recent films of Andrew Bujalski, Joe Swanberg and Greta Gerwig, all of whom apply a fair amount of self-criticism to their inside-out depictions of prolonged post-grad juvenilia. Yi, on the other hand, apparently thinks this crap is still cute. So she concoct this quirk-beset quasi-documentary in which people talk about “love” as though it has nothing to do with commitment, responsibility, sharing, nurturing, and—not incidentally—sex. Frankly, I’ve been over these kinds of movies (and attitudes) for some time now. But there’s really no place for Paper Heart in a post-Humpday world.

Grade: D-

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