My mother told me that if I didn’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. And, usually, when it comes to festival-level films, I keep mum about the bad ones I see (unless directed by Rex Piano.) But I feel like I have to warn you about this picture because you might get suckered into it just the way I did.

There’s a dude who hangs outside the Angelika selling DVDs of his own film. He speaks eloquently and passionately about cinema. I fell for his schtick and paid $5. At first he said, “pay what you wish” and when I handed him $5 he came back with “most pay $20.” That should have been my first warning.

Imperfect Strangers is a collection of long scenes of people yelling at each other in living rooms, actresses scrunching their faces up and pretending to cry, absurdist phone conversations wherein characters discuss for argue for five minutes as to whether or not they are going to have a phone conversation. By the time the African Prince shows up in his Rolls Royce with New Jersey plates, you will either have turned this movie off (97% probability) or you will be so glued to its transcendent badness that you’ll be wishing all your friends were watching, too. I can only describe this film as the American Idol tryout-reject of independent cinema. So much so that I can’t wait to lend this to you. Makes the work of Ed Wood look like Casablanca.