Almost everyone involved in this Stephen Elliott movie deserves better than, well, this Stephen Elliott movie. (Franco, who would go on to play Elliott, probably deserves what he got here.) Elliott, a novelist and founder of the website The Rumpus, made his directorial debut about the only thing a young memoirist might potentially find more fascinating than himself: the porn industry. That’s where Angelina (Hinshaw) winds up after moving to San Francisco in a bid to leave her downtrodden teenage life behind. Patel, sporting a rare-for-him American accent, plays her best friend and literal bedmate, albeit platonic. He’s typically likable, but undone by the movie’s narrow conception of his character; his damaged nice-guy judgments just aren’t as compelling to Elliott as more overtly skeezy white guys with scraggly facial hair. Moreover, Elliott has nothing novel or interesting to say about porn, voyeurism, or female agency, and his movie manages to be eager to titillate, indulgent of porn-biz clichés, and kinda dull, all at once.
