Desperate journalist Arnie Blondestone (Paul Giamatti) attempts to find some nonetheless, but as present-day David recounts his surreal exploits in a dingy Chinese restaurant, the quest for truth instead leads down a rabbit hole of lunacy and delusion. This is highlighted by the film's title: more theory than spoiler, it assumes a winking, self-aware attitude toward narrative and genre that beckons you to question your expectations of either. And for the first half, it very nearly succeeds.
As director Coscarelli demonstrated in "Phantasm" and "Bubba Ho-Tep," he likes to traffic in scrappy chaos, spicing every dollop of gore with an equivalent dose of laughter. This is nowhere more apparent than in the film's opening sequence, a whirling philosophical riff by David on whether a zombie-skewering axe — thrice repaired — can still be considered the same weapon.
At its finest, "John" glides on this charming fusion of ideas and goofy fun; there are recurring nods to the duplicitous nature of everyday perception — a well-tread avenue in sci-fi, but rarely done with such a vibrant sense of empathy and low-budget charm. How does one react when told they're simply the hallucinations of someone else? As Coscarelli shows, first with a chuckle, and then a creeping realization of horror.
But such epiphanies are mere glimmers in the galaxies of incident that the film presents. Glynn Turman and Doug Jones appear as mysterious figures on the fringe, joining Giamatti (who's clearly having a ball) to filtering exposition through terse monologues. A talking dog serves the same function, but not before a self-help psychic (Clancy Brown) and the orgy from "Eyes Wide Shut" show up as well.
Along with Jones, Turman, and Giamatti, the two leads try their best to rein in the narrative. Relatable yet maintaining an unsteady smirk throughout, Williamson and Mayes are two fresh faces who snugly fit the traditional (and watchable) buddy dynamic. Mayes especially delights, embodying that peculiar quality in your most untrustworthy friend: unreliable for a ride, but essential if the world should ever face annihilation.
When events finally do escalate into urgency, however, Coscarelli pulls back and opts for greater eccentricities and tangential oddities. He's attempting something of grand ambition and scope — sharing the same twitchy vision Richard Kelly displayed in "Southland Tales" — but sacrificing coherence in the process.
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