The Year of Spectacular Men

“Bubbly, clear-eyed sex comedy” is the last pitch a studio would expect from a writer shopping around a movie about depression, but The Year of Spectacular Men has a nifty hook: It’s a family affair, authored by and starring Madelyn Deutch, co-starring her younger sister Zoey and directed by their mom, Lea Thompson, focusing her daughters’ raucous sibling banter through paralytic sadness. Family is all about taking the bad with the good, the giddy, wisecracking banter and sororal love with the behavioral health troubles and personal tragedy. Paying for the lows alongside the highs feels like a bargain.
Madelyn plays Izzy, older sister to Sabrina (Zoey), the adult children of Deb (Thompson). Their story isn’t totally unhappy. Sabrina is hitting her career stride and passionately committed to her boyfriend, Sebastian (Avan Jogia), while Deb has found love with a much younger woman, Amythyst (Melissa Bolona), years after the death of the girls’ father. Madelyn, in contrast to Sabrina and Deb, flounders, scraping through college by the skin of her teeth and exiting her relationship with her boyfriend Aaron (Jesse Bradford) by falling flat on her ass. Aaron’s fed up with Izzy’s phases: her ceramics phase, her salad phase, her Brazilian drumming phase. She’s all over the place. You can hardly blame him for running out of patience.
Except that he’s a large diameter douchebag, the first and worst of the many men with which Izzy entangles for the rest of The Year of Spectacular Men’s duration. There’s theater guy Ross (Cameron Monaghan), who leads her on (and frankly has a fixation on cuddling that’s kind of gross), then Logan (Brandon T. Jackson), Aaron’s friend, who runs into Izzy at a party in Los Angeles after she moves cross-country to live with Sabrina and Sebastian, then Charlie (Nicholas Braun), a director as well as a walking endorsement for SSRIs. The film doles out these encounters over the course of a year, if the title isn’t a dead giveaway, framing Izzy’s misadventures in the spirit of schadenfreude without being mean-spirited.
Deutch shoulders the burden of humiliation with what passes as befuddled stoicism. Izzy doesn’t often let the world get her down, but when she does, she makes her inability to accomplish literally anything seem just shy of charming and delightful. That’s no small feat. Nothing sucks the air out of a room, or a film, like millennials whining about the bum hand dealt them by fate. Izzy’s a catastrophe on two feet. She spends so much time mummified in her blanket that it’s a miracle she’s not covered in bedsores. When she does wail, she doesn’t wail out of entitlement.