Going in, I assumed that this was going to be a film about making due with what you have and how desperation can lead you to questionable decisions. I expected an unintended parable for how the Republican Party is currently lashing themselves to the putrid corpse that is Donald Trump. And while I guess that reading could still stand, there's more to it. It's also a Ferris Bueller/Cameron Frye or Tyler Durden/Jack story about having someone to push you out of your comfort zone. It's also a story about farting. And admitting that you are the one who farted. Just as Daniel Radcliffe's corpse was able to become whatever Paul Dano needed in the moment (be it jet ski or confessor) this film can also be a multitude of things. Why does it have to be just one? Though it never quite worked for me on an emotional level, I was absolutely impressed by how much milage Daniels were able to get out of a simple premise. They squeezed out all that they possibly could.