Modern Romance (Albert Brooks, 1981)

Albert Brooks’ comedy in this film dances, with dainty and brilliant precision, on beats both awkward and absurd; we cringe in wincing recognition, hoping not to catch a glimpse of ourselves at the corners of our clenched eyelids, at the same time that our cortexes snap and crackle in joyful wide-eyed recognition of the juxtapositions of ordinary and bizarre. So when his character embarks on a self-health regimen and is conned by a solid-stomached salesman, we grit our teeth to giggle at his easily-stoked delusions that jogging will alleviate his depression and guffaw at the gargantuan bottle of salt tablets he buys.

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