Film Review: "Junk"

by Eric Hillis, TheMovieWaffler.com

originally published: 11/06/2026

Had Jack Begert's Junk premiered at Sundance in 1995 rather than 2024 it likely would have made a bigger splash. It's very much a throwback to that post-Pulp Fiction era of American indie cinema, when all it took for a movie to receive plaudits was a non-linear plot structure and overlapping timelines. But in the 2020s such techniques have become old hat, 2004's Crash proving the final nail in the ensemble drama coffin.

Despite winning Sundance's Innovator award (ironic, given how dated Junk feels), Begert's film (which played the festival under the title "Little Death") failed to pick up distribution until MUBI quietly added it to their line-up almost three years later.

Apparently the film has been re-edited since its Sundance debut. Having not seen the original cut, I can't make comparisons, but in its new form it plays like two separate movies spliced together in haphazard fashion. There are two subplots here, each playing out in their own timeline, and the reveal of how they connect is played as a brief moment of comedy that never really draws the two strands together in any profound way. You can't help but wonder if Begert had two scripts that he couldn't stretch to feature length and decide to combine them into a single film instead.

The first and more interesting timeline follows prescription pill-addled screenwriter Martin (David Schwimmer). Having been stuck writing for a TV body swap sitcom called "The Switch" for the last seven years, Martin is ready to direct his own feature (in an opening rant, Martin argues for the importance of the communal cinema-going experience, so it is cruelly ironic that Junk finds itself confined to a streaming platform). Martin's feature script is based on his own life, which makes it all the more painful when the studio execs insist that the protagonist is too unlikeable.

When said execs suggest that he make his protagonist a woman, Junk snarkily swaps Schwimmer out for actress Gaby Hoffman, proving without a doubt that making a character a woman doesn't miraculously make them any more endearing. Martin has fantasies about a beautiful mysterious woman (the ethereal Angela Sarafyan) while being stuck in a loveless marriage to a constantly mocking wife (the always great Jena Malone). He's also addicted to a host of prescription drugs.

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Martin's addiction provides the loose connective tissue with Junk's other subplot, centred on young junkies AJ (Dominic Fike) and Carla (Talia Ryder). When they agree to act as getaway drivers for a pair of unhinged burglars, they end up having Carla's car stolen, along with AJ's backpack, which contains the materials he needs to pitch his hare-brained scheme of opening a taco truck in Brooklyn at a business meeting the next morning. This subplot follows the "one crazy night" structure as AJ and Carla try to track down their car and backpack. But it's nowhere near as crazy as it should be, with only a visit to a nervy drug dealer (a creepy Karl Glusman) adding some brief tension. AJ and Carla's relationship is largely explained to us through dialogue, and we never get a real sense of their friendship, though Fike and Ryder are a watchable double act.

Begert structures his movie (or at least this version) in a way that results in the first and stronger subplot resolving much earlier than the second, less intriguing storyline. I never thought I'd find myself mourning the absence of David Schwimmer, but Junk loses its impetus once his subplot has been wrapped up. Schwimmer's usually annoying nervous nebbish routine works well here because it's deployed as a way of making his self-loathing character unendearing. If Begert's point here is to prove to Hollywood execs that a character doesn't need to be likeable to hold our interest, Schwimmer's loathsome performance proves him entirely correct. Resolving in the cynical manner of one of Guy de Maupassant's more misanthropic short stories, Martin's subplot would make for a satisfying standalone short, but its presence in Junk is merely one half of a whole that never quite comes together.