Irene in Time

Even after reading every dating book on the shelf, Irene has a problem: She loved her father so much, she wants his equivalent in every man she meets. Unfortunately, these men are either cheating, eyeing the restaurant hostess or unable to finish a date with her (though the two in the latter category seem sensible). It doesn’t help that Irene is the kind of maladroit woman-child you’d half-expect to see pilloried on Seinfeld, played by Frederick in a way that suggests a selective understanding of human behavior. Why Irene needs to meet someone exactly like her daddy is probably a question for her therapist, or maybe Jaglom’s; it’s only with his closing dedication—“for my daughter”—that Irene in Time becomes actively creepy and repellent, as opposed to being merely brainless, boring and inept.

West Coast navel-gazing can be done correctly (see Funny People), but in his 16th film, this fiercely independent director gives no sense that a professional shaped his material. Unless you’re Fassbinder or Altman, incessant zooming is best left to first-time camcorder users. At least the visual antsiness distracts from Jaglom’s dialogue, plot points about ancient infidelities and Irene’s experiment with smooching her women friends (which, in context, seems more macho fantasy than character development). That Jaglom wants his daughter to see this is nauseating.

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