The Baltimorons: Love is One Dental Cavity Away

Have you ever had one of those days? That start out on the wrong foot forward but right themselves to something special, vivid, alive as the day tumbles on? There are a great many films that capture that, and indie darling Jay Duplass now adds to that list The Baltimorons, a waltz between fools which filters the structure of Before Sunset through the rhythms of Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, charming, feel-good, and unexpectedly complicated.

Good morning Baltimore—or not so good. It's Christmas Eve and recovering alcoholic Cliff (Michael Strassner) has chipped his tooth on his girlfriend's mom’s stoop, which leads him to emergency dentist Didi (Liz Larsen), keen to spend her holidays on her own. What starts out frosty and gross turns into a brash night out for the two strangers, in a sprawling comedy of errors ranging from towing stations to wedding reception crashings and improv show appearances. The Baltimorons is a fresh film, maybe the first improv based film that’s actually good, and it wields a startling emphasis on character conflict behind the public affairs of its loser leads.

Cliff is a loser, and so is Didi to a degree. On paper they couldn't seem more different: he’s a bumbling millennial without direction in life, but bright and so bubbly about it; she's gainfully employed, and older, and surrounded by an ex-family too selfish to care for her needs. Strassner and Lerner, though, have an immediate chemistry with one another, which Duplass guides into sunspots of connection, but he also doesn't hesitate to scare them, emotionally, set to make them open up about what they leave unsaid about their lives. Michael Strassner is an especially wonderful discovery as an actor; his comedic efforts reminiscent of a John Candy type, the lovable schlub who's all over the place but you wanna root for him regardless. Some of the film’s funniest moments come from him, and he’ll have you chuckling until you're blue and devastated by what's riding behind his jovial demeanor.

Duplass’s work here underscores something really essential about the art of humor, in its personal delights and in its professional capacities. All comedy is derived from misery, yet what Duplass and co. do is plumb that pain before it spews as a spitfire joke. The film opens on a triggering sequence (viewers, be warned) even, and its title itself cues from a sketch Cliff lampoons his Baltimore heritage to shreds with for laughs, or an escape, and to ultimately connect with Didi on a deeper level than either of them was expecting. Curmudgeons become pals, and happy go lucky pals get to shed their worst demons. The Baltimorons is hilarious, but tough—a chewy ride across naughty, nice, the softshells of our crabby existence—but for those who get it, it's a rewarding gift to watch.