Jam-packed with his familiar brand of vulgar yet verbose stoner humor and free-flowing riffs on movies—especially his own—the vibes are certainly off the charts in Kevin Smith’s The 4:30 Movie. Set in the summer of 1986, the film chronicles an initially magical day in the life of a Smith stand-in, Brian David (Austin Zajur), after he invites a girl from school, Melody Barnegat (Siena Agudong), to their local movie theater. But a raucous comedy of errors ensues thanks to Brian’s slacker friends, Burny (Nicholas Cirillo) and Belly (Reed Northrup), and a revolving door of local weirdos played by Smith’s IRL famous friends (Justin Long, Rosario Dawson, Jason Biggs, and more), turning the theater into a lawless asylum.
The 4:30 Movie doesn’t so much find Smith in his wheelhouse as it does in some kind of Synecdoche, New York-style Tower of slacker-movie Babylon. That, though, doesn’t translate to comedy gold, let alone a cohesive film. But, if anything, it cements the fact that Smith is mostly just making films for himself as an excuse to hang out with his buddies. Adam Sandler has been playing that game with studio money for decades for films far more grating than The 4:30 Movie. Thing is, dig through Smith’s loose and lackadaisical approach to narrative, cinematography, and his juvenile instincts and you’ll see something hidden under all that shoddiness that’s more powerful and effective than any sex joke that he’s ever written: honesty.
Honesty is the most mishandled weapon in Smith’s creative arsenal. He’s able to wield it so well in front of crowds, on podcasts, and in interviews. And, indeed, when it shows up on film, like sunlight peeking through dick-shaped clouds, something beautiful shines through. More recently, the most pervasive, joyous, effective ray of it shone through in Ben Affleck’s absolutely wonderful reconciliatory cameo in the otherwise interminable Jay and Silent Bob Reboot.
In The 4:30 Movie, after 70 minutes of random jokes leaden with f-bombs and landing with the density of dying stars, and loose, cringe-y stretches of random ribbing between friends set over disconnected needle drops, the film’s irritating noise fades away. For a few moments, it becomes a simple portrait of an overweight suburban nerd—smarter than his company and humor would imply—going on a walk with Melody and talking about films, their dreams, their friends, and their hometown. For 10 excellent minutes, Smith comes close to making his own Before Sunrise.
The insights shared by the characters aren’t exactly Linklater-deep, but they’re certainly honest. And honest Kevin Smith is the best Kevin Smith—the one that still has the most value in a cinematic landscape where his films perpetually age into Gen-X-scented dust by the day. The 4:30 Movie desperately wants for more of that Kevin Smith. It’s definitely better for his appearance at the end—as well one earlier scene where Brian, Burny, and Belly fall apart—but it’s a really long, infantile road to get to see Kevin Smith’s best self as a director in this film. And even the version of him who made the film’s laugh-out-loud funniest bit—a fake movie trailer where Harley Quinn Smith plays a killer nun—can’t hold a candle to that other guy.
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