Art-school non-com, even drier than the deadpannest early-mid Jarmusches. Mom, and her slack motherfucker son with his little moving van business and family dysfunction and... stuff like that. It's all 100% character-driven, and the performances are strong enough to carry the whole movie. A structuring quirk that could escape you on first viewing: that scene at the beginning with the old woman pottering around in her walker and singing to herself isn't a non sequitur. You'll forget about that character once the movie gets going, but she reappears in an important way very near to the end.














