Critics reviews

Schwartzman brings sardonic swing to Larry's anomie but, over all, this feast of performance is served in very small dishes. Byington's spare visual and narrative style, though authentic, sacrifices the story's deeper echoes, and much of the sweetness is artificial. But the sharpest moments cast mundane struggles in a nearly spiritual light.

Jason Schwartzman's performance as a surly slacker and Olympia Dukakis' backup work as his grandmother are the only reasons to see '7 Chinese Brothers," a comedy about a man of no ambition—well, that and the image of a world largely indifferent to professionalism, honesty and decency... This is the kind of movie that makes you appreciate Schwarztman's unique brand of screen energy, if you didn't already.

Drifting and sweet, "7 Chinese Brothers" (like Mr. Byington's gentle 2009 love story, "Harmony and Me") leaves a melancholy but hopeful aftertaste. His story may appear weightless, but it has a lot to say about the indignities of service-economy jobs that offer a uniform and a training manual in lieu of an identity. The film's jokes are small and quick, but its repurposed resentments cut deeper as workers violate one another's property and use their uniforms to thieve and deceive.

While I do question how well the script would stand up without the impressive improv and comic timing of Schwartzman (and Dukakis actually, who apparently came up with a few of the film's funniest scenes while shooting), Byington is under no illusion of grandeur, he writes an unsympathetic protagonist in a low-key, dilapidated world.

[7 Chinese Brothers] emulates the tentatively wistful, jangle pop of the sophomore R.E.M. album on which the namesake track appears and which, on the basis of its cast alone, marks a big step forward for Austin auteur-slacker Bob Byington.

The film, which takes its title from track 2 on Reckoning, has something of the underachiever's charm of 80s and 90s indie rock.

You've seen this character a million times before: white male, late 20s, prone to wise-ass comments, incapable of keeping even the least stimulating job—but of course with a soft spot. It's exasperating that Bob Byington is content with lobbing another one of these sad-sack character studies at a festival in which that very subject has far exceeded its sell-by date, and not only that, but to do it with Jason Schwartzman, who plays these kinds of witty mopes in his sleep.