Chris Pine is usually a likable screen presence but he’s let down here by a flimsy script and over-indulgent direction – which could have something to do with the co-screenwriter (Chris Pine) and the first-time director (er, Chris Pine). You can see what he was going for: a knockabout stoner neo-noir paying homage to old-school Los Angeles, but this is more like Chinatown without the savagery, or Inherent Vice without the brains, or The Big Lebowski without the drugs.
Pine’s character is very much a watered-down version of Jeff Bridges’ Dude (the strongest thing he consumes is an egg cream mocktail). He’s a shaggy, aimless slacker who lives in a trailer next to the apartment-complex pool he tends with zen-like focus. As his character name, Darren Barrenman, forewarns, he’s little more than a collection of quirks: he makes origami gifts; meditates underwater at the bottom of his pool; types soul-baring letters to Erin Brockovich. He also dresses in short shorts and a pink blazer, but later seems to have a bottomless dressing-up wardrobe, and regularly campaigns about public transport at the city council with the aid of hand-made dioramas. None of this really makes any sense.
