This wasn’t bad, but it could have been a lot better. There’s a lot of muddled, messy relationships. Parentage is disputed, or kept secret. Nobody really loves anyone else, or maybe they do. It’s a Don Roos picture, so everyone is high-strung, with the exception of Maggie Gyllenhaal, who plays a femme fatale on a long con with wealthy Tom Arnold and his gayish son, who works at the restaurant of Steve Coogan, whose partner may or may not have been the sperm donor for a couple of no-sugar moms. Steve also, back in the day, fathered a child (that he doesn’t know about) with his step-sister, who grows up to be Lisa Kudrow, abortion counselor, who gets blackmailed into helping a film student make a fake documentary about a massage-therapist-as-sex-worker, so that he, the film student, will tell Kudrow the name of the baby she gave away.

I was actually with all of this complicated business for about two-thirds of the film, but it got excessive in the third act. I was also put off by the snarky titles that came up from time to time to tell us about the characters histories, as well as their fates. I don’t know; the same idea worked terrifically as voiceover in Amélie and Y Tu Mamá También. Maybe I just grow weary.

As Jessica points out, the problem with movies like this is the world is too small. Everybody’s a little too intricately related (related and related-related) with everybody else. Call it Magnolia syndrome.

Also, I admit that I don’t know how to end this review, happily or otherwise. Let’s leave it there.