Check any screen writing manual for definitions of plot point, twist, rising action. Then the RomCom playbook: meet girl, lose girl by self, regain girl, lose girl to externals, win girl.
Paint-by-numbers.
The script for "Murder of a Cat" is a textbook example. Each move is telegraphed. Each line moves toward the big twist right on time at minute 77. It may not be enough to discount this, or any film, but sadly there's nothing else to recommend it.
The chemistry between Nikki Reed and Fran Kranz is nonexistent. The former sleepwalks through a thankless, underwritten part while the latter, a sexless man-child living with Mom, was surely directed to angrily shout every line. Even the venerable J.K. Simmons phones it in, as does Greg Kinnear. Only Blythe Danner turns in a nuanced performance.
Further, Fran Kranz isn't a character, he's an annoying, trite and insulting caricature that's an affront to sensibility.
That leaves only plot: a Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew quest for the killer of Franz' cat. The yawn-inducing trail leading to the killer is paved with inane set pieces rolled in obvious that the filmmakers incorrectly believed was quirk.
There's a slapdash, let's-get-this-over feel to the proceedings which may derive from a tight shooting schedule. That might be forgiven, but when the cast isn't invested that feeling wafts over the footlights to hapless audiences. That conceit is the worst aspect in this useless film.
"Murder of a Cat" is an unfunny, undramatic, unwatchable insult not worthy of anyone's time. Maybe your cat will like it. (Maybe they'll wish for the same fate as the cinematic feline.)
Paint-by-numbers.
The script for "Murder of a Cat" is a textbook example. Each move is telegraphed. Each line moves toward the big twist right on time at minute 77. It may not be enough to discount this, or any film, but sadly there's nothing else to recommend it.
The chemistry between Nikki Reed and Fran Kranz is nonexistent. The former sleepwalks through a thankless, underwritten part while the latter, a sexless man-child living with Mom, was surely directed to angrily shout every line. Even the venerable J.K. Simmons phones it in, as does Greg Kinnear. Only Blythe Danner turns in a nuanced performance.
Further, Fran Kranz isn't a character, he's an annoying, trite and insulting caricature that's an affront to sensibility.
That leaves only plot: a Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew quest for the killer of Franz' cat. The yawn-inducing trail leading to the killer is paved with inane set pieces rolled in obvious that the filmmakers incorrectly believed was quirk.
There's a slapdash, let's-get-this-over feel to the proceedings which may derive from a tight shooting schedule. That might be forgiven, but when the cast isn't invested that feeling wafts over the footlights to hapless audiences. That conceit is the worst aspect in this useless film.
"Murder of a Cat" is an unfunny, undramatic, unwatchable insult not worthy of anyone's time. Maybe your cat will like it. (Maybe they'll wish for the same fate as the cinematic feline.)