Review: THE 4:30 MOVIE

 by Rob DiCristino

By Kevin Smith. For Kevin Smith.

Few artists have Kevin Smith’s gift for self-mythology, his uncanny ability to turn quotidian pursuits like “working in retail,” “being Catholic,” or “dating a woman” into compelling cinema simply by presenting them with a bit of irreverent comedy and juvenile exuberance. And while outliers like Red State and Tusk have shown his willingness to take the occasional risk, little else in Smith’s career has demonstrated much of a desire to move beyond that navel-gazing autobiography, to do anything but take victory laps around the Jersey-shaped echo chamber he’s created for himself and his fans. And really, can you blame him? In the thirty years since Clerks codified Gen X’s antipathy toward growing up and moving on, Smith has built an empire trading on his origins, granting him license to remain in that comfort zone for the rest of his creative life whether mainstream film culture likes it or not. In any case, it’s hard to get more comfortable than The 4:30 Movie, a coming-of-age comedy set — and shot — in Smith’s hometown movie theater and starring a cast of young characters who will look very familiar to his most ardent fans.

The year is 1986, the place is suburban New Jersey, and the hero is Brian David (Austin Zajur, a dead ringer for teenage Smith), a loquacious and quick-witted high-schooler who’s finally ready to ask girl next door Melody Barnegat (Siena Agudong) out on their first movie date. Brian’s thrilled, of course — he and Melody almost made it to second base last summer before he lost his nerve — but best buds Burny and Belly (Nicolas Cirillo and Reed Northrup) are more preoccupied with how the trio will sneak around megalomaniacal theater owner Mike (Ken Jeong) for the afternoon of matinees they plan to take in before the big date. This is the ‘80s, remember, and the Atlantic Highlands Cinema will be packed with moviegoers eager to munch popcorn and see hits like Astro Blaster and Dental School, some of them for the third or fourth time. As their day at the movies unfolds, Brian and his friends will get lucky in the back row, debate the merits of sequels, crash Mike’s prized convertible, and discover that they still have a few lessons left to learn before graduation.

So it’s Mallrats in a movie theater, essentially, a revelatory day in the life of some local slackers that will play like a greatest hits album to audiences already devoted to the cult of Kevin Smith. Whereas ‘rats and his other ‘90s output have the acerbic edge of a filmmaker in his twenties, however, The 4:30 Movie is pitched at a decidedly sweeter and more nostalgic angle, with a wizened Smith paying obvious tribute to idols like John Hughes and contemporaries like Richard Linklater. Brian and his buds are every bit as vulgar as the pre-internet culture snobs manning the counter at the Quick Stop — and if you don’t think you’ll be seeing that august storefront before the movie’s over, you’re underestimating Smith’s obsession with his own legacy — but they haven’t lived quite long enough to match their cynicism. There’s still a light in their eyes, an innocence to their tomfoolery that suits the rosy recollections Smith’s spinning here. That innocence extends to the script itself, thankfully: Anyone worried about third-act donkey shows or invasions by mini-Nazis can breathe a bit easier on this one.

And with a few exceptions — Ken Jeong needs a tighter leash, as usual, and winking jokes about Bill Cosby and post-credit scenes grate harder because they draw so much attention to themselves — the director deserves credit for keeping The 4:30 Movie on steadier rails than much of his recent work. But because filmmaking is an impossible labor often beset by brutal and heartbreaking ironies, that conservatism is also what makes the whole thing feel like such a waste of effort: It’s too steady. It’s bland and flat throughout, with paper-thin archetypes standing in for Smith’s usual crew of idiosyncratic deviants and a structure that imitates classics of the genre without offering anything fresh or innovative. Smith peppers in elements of his own story, of course — SModcast fans will recognize Brian as Emo Kev, complete with his bicycle and tape recorder — but anyone outside of his most hardcore devotees will find very little in The 4:30 Movie worth latching onto, and many who count themselves among those fans will be frustrated by the film’s lack of charm or imagination.

In short, The 4:30 Movie is a flavorless illustration of stories that Kevin Smith has told with more skill and texture in other places, stories that require his talents as a world-class raconteur to land with the sense of wonder and whimsy he’s unable to convey through the screen. There’s another punishing irony there, I think: The movie-crazed Smith’s attempt to squeeze his lived experience into the boundaries of his generation’s signature storytelling model — the coming-of-age comedy — ends up robbing that experience of its nuance and personality. Perhaps Smith is more than the cardboard archetype he’s styled for himself here, a more complex and multifaceted protagonist than he’s sanded himself into over twenty-plus years of stage shows and podcasts. And while that may be bad for The 4:30 Movie — surely a very personal but ultimately a very forgettable entry in his filmography — it’s good for Kevin Smith. He’s better than this. More distinct. More interesting. More creative. And with this last piece of his past captured on celluloid, Smith can get back to crafting art unique to his present, something that Brian David would want to see in theaters again and again.

The 4:30 Movie hits theaters on September 13th.