Jeff, Who Lives at Home is a film about Jeff, who lives at home, and that’s enough subordinate clauses for one day. (Don’t be greedy; you know how fattening they are.) It’s a comedy from the Duplass brothers, Mark and Jay, who have previously made small films that have been well received (The Puffy Chair, Cyrus), and this is their first big film although it’s a small big film, coming in at 83 minutes, which, in its small way, is quite big enough.
It’s a whimsical comedy and, as far as whimsical comedies go, it is quite whimsical, and sometimes comedic, which is fair enough, but ultimately it is slight and repetitive and nothing sticks in the mind. I’m not saying every film has to be laced with meaning or existential despair, or that I am always seeking such things — I am wondrously shallow; ask anyone — but I do think it has to give something beyond an arresting subordinate clause, as delicious as subordinate clauses are.
So, anyway, there’s this Jeff (Jason Segel) and he’s living at home — see how, thinking of your waistline, I rephrased that for you, fatty? — and Jeff lives at home in his mother’s basement, slouching about, watching infomercials and smoking weed. Jeff is 30, unmarried, unemployed, and is either an endearingly foolish mumblecore stoner hero or a total sad sack, depending on which way you come at these things. I veer towards sad sack, but this may only be due to my advanced years and a distaste for weed, which I only tried once and did not like. (My knees went.)
Anyway, his mother, Sharon (Susan Sarandon, who looks better and more radiant at 66 than I have at any age, the bitch), only has the one thing she wants Jeff to do today: buy some wood-glue to fix a slat on the pantry shutters.
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