What's up with Andy Samberg's hair? It's a forward-swooping mess of a mop that no man should ever sport - follically challenged or not.
Sure, that's an unorthodox introduction to my take on Celeste and Jesse Forever
but with a film this slipshod, why bother going the traditional route?
Samberg is Jesse, an unemployed artist-wannabe loser who makes his abode in the guest house behind his soon-to-be ex-wife Celeste (Rashida Jones). The pair - while the bestest of friends - decide to cut ties for some reason that involves Jesse being a bum.
But bizarrely, women find Jesse and his I-have-zero-going-for-me-persona irresistible. The guy bags a supermodel-esque babe, knocking her up in the process. But oh how Celeste still pines for her schmuck, despite the fact that he's set to be a father to a baby that's not hers. Truly tragic.
Celeste heads into a tailspin of drunken debauchery - partying with Britney Spears/Ke$ha clone, Emma Roberts - as the thirty-something valiantly tries to get over being dumped by the guy she took out to the trash.
Toss in some Tangerine Dream-styled synths and "woe is me" hipster tracks and it adds up to a creative train wreck that's convinced it's so much funnier and more clever than it truly is. As co-writer of the screenplay, Jones deserves as much grief as anyone for the banality.
It's pretty darn difficult to buy into a movie when you don't believe for a second that the two characters at its heart are the soul mates the film purports them to be. Though building a relationship around the shared love of a masturbatory joke involving a bottle of Blistex is undoubtedly as sturdy a foundation as any twosome has ever known.