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film review

A scene from Moments of Clarity.

The one thing I liked about the cockamamie Moments of Clarity is the use of the portmanteau "anticipointment," which, of course, refers to expectations raised but not met. That shouldn't be a problem here, for this quirky dramedy promises little and delivers even less. At least three times, we hear characters expressing confusion as to the goings-on – a bewilderment that will no doubt be shared by discriminating audiences. The film is co-produced and co-written by Kristin Wallace, who co-stars in an apparent passion project as Claire, a sexually naive woman-child whose traits of simplicity and social clumsiness are suggested to be the result of home-schooling by a fragile mother. That premise is incredible and reckless. And even if it wasn't, Wallace's overgoofy portrayal of the character – she calls her breasts "jelly jams," for God's sake – is more annoying than charming. She's joined in an unlikely road-trip adventure by a pastor's cynical, emotionally traumatized daughter, played with actual realism by Lyndsy Fonseca. The plot is implausible and overstuffed; tones are mixed together willy-nilly. In a film about self-realization and life's meaning, any moments of clarity are few and far between.

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