Write When You Get Work

"Write When You Get Work" doesn't work. Not as a romance, not as a Robin Hood-tinged caper flick, not as a social commentary on racial inequity or classism, and not as a male-buddy picture.

With zero romance and nonsensical thrills, the only legitimate theft here is of the viewer's time.

There are some interesting things going on, and some insight into New York's economic hierarchy, but the film veers off into a hard-to-believe crime heist, and, ultimately, none of it really hangs together.

Neither remotely credible nor more than minimally entertaining, Stacy Cochran's New York City romance, "Write When You Get Work," presents rich folk as gullible idiots and blue-collar crooks as heroes.

The core of the film is Ruth and Jonny's backstory, which is dosed out in frustrating droplets but is nonetheless affecting.

It should be a scathing study of class and privilege, but it's not sharp enough for that to work.

The story has a lethargic nature to it that makes it difficult to connect to the intricacies it attempts to establish, leaving quite a distance from the emotional bonds of these characters.

Write feels like a movie one of those Miramax competitors wouldve put in theaters sometime around April 1998 to counter any other random indie film trying to convince moviegoers that its the next big thing to come out of Sundance.

It feels all too convenient and Robin Hood-esque, almost too fantastical for a movie that has dwelled on the realness of life for the bulk of its duration.

Its resolution may have been playful and funny when used 40 years ago in a certain Jackie Chan film, but here it's just twee.