Something like the beau idealfor fussy, aging, Pinot-sipping demi-queers everywhere, David Hyde Pierce makes this gimmick indie his own, as an L.A. condo-owner primping for a dinner party when Clayne Crawfords wounded bank robber sweet-talks his way through the front door. What mightve made a predictable one-act play pitting outlaw brutality and urbane wimpiness hits the fan completely when the tables are turned and Hyde Pierces social animal is revealed to be a sadistic psychopath, with a head full of imaginary friends that lounge across the furniture, clean up spills, and form conga lines. First-timer Nick Tomnay has expanded his movie from a short, and the point where he ran out of ideas looms like a cliff edge. The heart of the film is a one-joke fizzler, leaving DHP to sashay, role-play, carry on one-sided conversations, and disco-dance on the table with just the right amount of lizardy, half-lidded sangfroid.
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