The Friends alum makes up half of a messy and pretentious comedy drama that boasts some visual panache but is dragged down by a confused tone
You could be forgiven, upon watching the first scene of Junk, for believing that this debut feature will boldly, perhaps ill-advisedly, dare to satirize the industry it’s purporting to join. At a swanky restaurant in LA, four people aglow with self-importance embark on the time-honored ritual of discussing the screenplays they’re working on – specifically, the screenplay Martin (David Schwimmer), is “working on”. It’s classic industry navel-gazing, underscored by a tight focus on Martin’s clammy face as he sputters poorly through a confidence game.
Schwimmer, of course, is still best known for playing a perpetually and comedically exasperated sitcom character; it’s hard to square that extremely familiar voice with Martin’s dark bluster on how “drug-addled gen Zers” have “no respect for the communal aspect of the cinema”, an off-putting rant that is also a tad intriguing – who is more pretentious here, the sweaty character or the picture starkly sending him up?
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