The dialogue, which was wholly improvised, includes the "like"s, "uh"s, and general feeling of contrived spontaneity native to The Real World. The we're-friends-but-I-love-you scenes are either drenched with provocative sunlight or packed with candles; these techniques seem to be borrowed from the tamer selections of late-night Cinemax.

Also on the bill is Mark L. Feinsod's A Sense of Entitlement, a superb 30-minute stimulation of the senses. The story centers on Jessica, an underachieving art student with a French boyfriend and her daddy's credit card, who lives in Manhattan with her half-sister, Caroline, a former model. After yet another night of partying, the pair get the dreaded call from Pops, who cuts off the cash flow. The duo endure bouts of existential dread; meanwhile, cryptic and enticing trouble unravels when Father comes into town with his gun-toting assistant. With a sorrowful, Modest Mouse-y soundtrack, a sharp script, and vibrant cinematography (reminiscent of Red Desert), A Sense of Entitlement establishes a privileged world that's less sunny but far more enticing than the Los Angeles beach.