Though described by its director - also the screenwriter and one of the three central characters - as "existential cathartic dramedy" TMIUD is essentially a series of self-congratulatory sneers at, well, everyone who isn't an indy New Zealand actor: poor people who have dowdy houses with retro shlock; rich people who are vapid; foreign people with horrible life stories who are either oracular or delusional; a whole string of pathetic men; and what's meant to be, I think, a sort of kitsch variation on gritty realism but, again, just comes across as entitled and callous.
There are one or two moments that do give some genuine empathy or perspective, but these are outweighed by a constant, dreary insistence that these various troubled characters are not so much insightful or even funny, but contemptible.
This -could-, probably, have been the basis for something at least better, if not good. But the combination of a largely smug and self-fascinated cast, superficial characterisation and condescension removed that chance.
There are one or two moments that do give some genuine empathy or perspective, but these are outweighed by a constant, dreary insistence that these various troubled characters are not so much insightful or even funny, but contemptible.
This -could-, probably, have been the basis for something at least better, if not good. But the combination of a largely smug and self-fascinated cast, superficial characterisation and condescension removed that chance.
