Moral of the story: it's okay to be a drug mule so long as you're old and you admit you done fucked up.
Roman Coppola has clearly spent too much time around Wes Anderson and on the sets of his films. This is like the worst wannabe Wes Anderson film since Wes Anderson's films themselves. I know that doesn't make sense, but neither does this movie really.
Clearly needed more Aubrey Plaza then maybe I could've jerked off instead of having to endure this awful piece of shit.
About fifty times better than I expected. Seeing this guy go out to kill women (and Tom Savini with a fucking double barrel shotgun) in the streets of New York and then go home to sleep with his mannequins had me in absolute stitches - the topping on the cake was the longing in his eyes as he stared into the department store window at the beautiful mannequins. I can undoubtedly see this becoming one of my favourites as time goes by and as I revisit it.