I Want Someone to Eat Cheese With

Committed to defining itself as New York's festival of tragic remembrances, Tribeca also has the counter-programming necessary to hoist low spirits: comedy! Curb Your Enthusiasm's portly player Jeff Garlin lets his romantic wishes be known in his sweetly neurotic directorial debut, I Want Someone to Eat Cheese With. Garlin stars as a 39-year-old Chicago actor and improv comedian named James, whose chronic disillusionment could be attributed to still living at home with mom. His self-mocking wit and incurable food addiction are his defense mechanisms against being uncomfortable in his own skin and sexually awkward around women. Through a clever series of droll setups that aren't quite as loosely scripted as Curb, James juggles his unrewarding career, laments an unnecessary remake of Marty, and meets two potential mates. Can he find love with the impulsive ice-cream countergirl (Sarah Silverman, as boffo as she is sexy) or the nervously rambling, grade-school teacher (the underappreciated Bonnie Hunt)? Or is James destined to a life of solo snack binges on the hood of his car? It may be too quirky to become much more than a cult hit, but the laughs are big and plenty for those who tap into its quietly eccentric logic. Rarely is pop-culture referentialism this fresh without sounding like know-it-all screenwriting, and the artfully appropriate ending evokes Woody Allen's early faves.

Colour Me Kubrick

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Speaking of getting the references, it helps to know a little something about the late filmmaker Stanley Kubrick's career to appreciate all the peripheral gags in director Brian Cook's Colour Me Kubrick. (Besides an underscoring soundtrack of music from A Clockwork Orange and Barry Lyndon, many will appreciate the adult bookstore named "Bleu Danube," after the waltz from 2001: A Space Odyssey.) Based on the experiences of Alan Conway, a British fella who impersonated the reclusive auteur during the '90s, this "true-ish story" won't offer deep insights into the skewed psychology of this strange little man, nor does it really need to. In fact, we barely ever meet Alan's actual persona, as his Stanley routine becomes a pathological need to win friends, influence people and score free cocktails. Best appreciated as a rather amusing farce called The John Malkovich Show, the movie's every scene is anchored, then stolen, by the commanding thespian's Alan act. As sloppy with his tall tales as he is with booze, this flamboyantly aloof and morally care-free faker gets called out regularly for not actually knowing anything about Kubrick, calling the star of Spartacus Ms. Kirk Douglas and adopting increasingly goofier accents. At a mere 87 minutes, the rather one-note story is wise to not overstay its welcome, though it could have hung around longer if the nature of fame and celebrity entitlement were explored with sharper focus.

Comeback Season

Sometimes real-world sincerity in the comedy genre is better achieved through a filter of sadness, so it's not unusual that Comeback Season is stuffed like a tissue box with heartbreaking laughs. Written and directed by Bruce McCulloch (former member of acclaimed sketch-comedy troupe The Kids in the Hall), this road-to-redemption record tracks the behavioral evolution of two unlikely buddies who have been refused second chances. When his daughter's boyfriend proposes to her during his anniversary dinner, diligent family man Walter (Ray Liotta, an inspired casting choice) trumps the good news by sorely admitting he's been having an inter-office affair. Mercilessly thrown out of the house with his joint bank accounts drained, Walter is forced to live with his next-door neighbor, Skylar (Shaun Sipos, the spitting image of Brad Pitt in his mid-twenties). A high-school quarterback star who just ruined his career with a single pre-game knee injury, Skylar is also on Walter's blacklist for dumping his other daughter on prom night. As desperately apologetic as they both try to be, neither are allowed any wiggle room back into their significant others' lives, a perfect mutual loneliness for young and old to bond. McCulloch's script is light enough to wash down the dejection so that it's downbeat instead of a downer, though sometimes he overcompensates with a tidy Splenda-sweetness and forgivably stale references (Toad the Wet Sprocket, anyone?). Still, his soul is in the right place, the premise is honest instead of gimmicky—and compared to most recent romantic comedies, which this flick quasi-resembles—Comeback Season is a crowd-pleaser that won't insult your intelligence.