Another anemic and pointless stringing together of stories that are not worth telling, Untogether follows the truncated lives of a group of lost souls in Los Angeles with an overdose of paralyzing cinematic anesthesia. For this debut film by writer-director Emma Forrest, who obviously talked her friends into putting their careers on hold to guide hers into deserved oblivion, it would take one of those predictable California earthquakes on the 405 freeway to shake the artificial zombies assembled here into anything resembling real life.
They include Andrea (Jemima Kirke), a one-book author from London with orange hair and a recovering heroin addict who is sleeping with Nick (Irish-born Jamie Dornan), a doctor who got lucky with a spicy best-selling memoir that turns out to be a total fiction. Andrea lives in a tree house, but spends most of her time fighting writer’s block by absurdly copy-editing already-printed newspapers at the apartment of her sister Tara (played by her real-life sister Lola Kirke), a masseuse who gives cucumber facials, and Tara’s whining, dysfunctional boyfriend Martin, an aging Australian pop singer played by wasted but wonderful Australian actor Ben Mendelsohn, who used to be the husband of the film’s director. Martin is desperately in love with Tara, but she’s in love with a Jewish rabbi (Billy Crystal, of all people) who runs a rock ‘n’ roll synagogue.
Accents run rampant as almost everyone in the movie ends up in rehab. They’re all miserable and sorry examples of Hollywood still life who must have failed to read the script before signing on. With dialogue like “there is no true love—only a finely tuned jealousy” and “I feel like a foreskin,” who can blame them for looking so unhappy? Dornan, a survivor of the ghastly Fifty Shades sexploitation flicks, shows off his camera-ready body posing in various states of nudity to keep his fans awake, but Untogether is so bad nobody cares.