Future students of early-21st-century screen comedy will be mystified by just how much film we devoted to fat guys screaming about gettin’ pussy. Jason Rogel barks the best friend part here—his complementary archetype, the awkward nice-guyish leading man, is headlight-eyed Thomas Middleditch, wincing in surprise at his own voice. Middleditch plays a no-ambition twentysomething townie, Justin, who is hustled and bewitched by punkette Galaxy (Rachael Taylor), visiting with the carnival and her hardcase boyfriend. From here, it’s another tale of an overgrown kid accepted for his sweet, stammering self and nurtured out of his cocoon—Justin and Galaxy’s moment of connection takes place, typically, on a playground date. The best that can be said of Splinterheads is that writer/director Brant Sersen’s romantic idealization of a “funky” tattooed chick who’s into “geocaching”—some kind of GPS-based scavenger hunt, awkwardly explained, which could be excised from the plot without leaving a scar—is touching in its dorkiness. Sundry eccentrics fill out the cast, with Jason Mantzoukas and Lennon Parham as magician Amazing Steve and his lover/assistant closest to being funny.