‘Maggie Moore(s)’ Review: Body Trouble

“Some of this actually happened,” we’re suggested firstly of John Slattery’s second characteristic, “Maggie Moore(s).” At least it’s a variation on the groaningly acquainted “based on a true story,” even when each claims are equally meaningless.

Degree of reality apart, this comedy-thriller succeeds as neither. Top-heavy with large names (Tina Fey, Jon Hamm) and set in a nondescript small city populated primarily by unhappy sacks and losers, the film struggles to get out of second gear. A terrified girl flees a hulking hit man, her physique later found by a police chief named Sanders (a hammy Hamm) and his pragmatic deputy (Nick Mohammed). Days earlier, one other girl had been discovered, burned to a crisp in her automobile. Two murdered ladies, two sketchy spouses, one shared title: Maggie Moore.

Suspicions aroused, Sanders begins a desultory investigation. Distracted by the current dying of his spouse — whose loss he medicates by studying his sappy scribblings aloud to a rapt writing group — Sanders appears drained and becalmed. Any plot momentum, then, is due solely to Micah Stock and Christopher Denham’s heroic efforts because the weaselly husbands of the murdered Maggies, although their comedic vigor is undercut by the sheer bleakness of Paul Bernbaum’s script. Desperately sad individuals are hardly ever fun a minute.

Or, for that matter, convincing lovers. So when Sanders sidles right into a relationship with Rita (Fey), a chatty on line casino worker, their scenes are by no means plausible as something apart from Hamm and Fey doing a very boring bit.

“I’m trying to be a little more spontaneous these days,” Sanders confesses to Rita at one level. “I hear the ladies really like that.”

With dialogue this dreadful, even Jon Hamm would battle to attain.

Maggie Moore(s)
Rated R for inappropriate language, unsavory habits and unconvincing intercourse. Running time: 1 hour 39 minutes. In theaters.