YPF (review)

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If this is meant to be representative of “modern relationships,” count me out. The title is a shy abbrevation for Young People Fucking, and the film is as blunt as that, giving us four pairs — the best friends, the couple, the first-daters, the exes — and one threesome as they go about their lovemaking of an evening. Frank but tiresome in their mechanical flayings of sexual gameplaying, dishonesty, and other crimes of the bedroom, the cast of young unknown Canadian actors is not up to a task that demands a great deal more sensitivity than they can muster: these tedious characters might as well be dissecting their dining habits, or discussing in which order they don their shoes in the morning. They’re not very naked, in other words, for all the nudity onscreen, and no one brings much insight beyond the zingy one-liners of the Seinfeldian script. (“Isn’t it funny,” I can almost hear Jerry saying, “when you’re fucking a girl, and she asks you to get up in the middle and get her some ice cream? What’s up with that?”) Everyone gets laid, and we’re left feeling as empty as they all are by the experience — even the married couple barely seems to like each other, never mind evoking any sense of true intimacy. For such a boldly titled film, it’s remarkable circumspect about baring it all. A theatrical trailer is the only “bonus.”

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