Seemingly unable to score a role of tangible value outside of his gig as Dexter, the talented Michael C. Hall is Morris, a guy who’s involved sexually with an 18-year-old schoolgirl named Stephanie (Brie Larson, 21 Jump Street). Heck, she’s young enough to be his daughter — which makes sense since Morris learns too late she’s the offspring of his best bud from high school (Brad William Henke, TV’s Justified).
It’s another line item on the list that marks Morris as a certified Miserable Bastard. Others are that he is unemployed and still lives with Daddy (Peter Fonda, 3:10 to Yuma). None of these give us any reason to like him or even allow for an ounce of empathy. Blame director Michael Knowles, whose script is as inert as Morris, and whose camera is only slightly livelier.
Lethal for a dramedy, the film is neither funny nor sad; the only grief experienced was my own doing, feeling as if I had thrown away 97 minutes of life with no reward in return, however minute. Bliss possesses none. —Rod Lott