Writer /Director / Actor Chris Federico is a juggernaut. Long, wild, Samson hair, built solid as a statue, yet kinetic as Woody Allen, Federico's character suffers his demons, a laundry list of frustrations as a struggling actor, and a terrible back swing.
Meanwhile, his buddy is as calm as a Buddhist Monk. As Federico rails against the corporatization of Broadway, the buddy cracks the golf balls out over the East River with Zen-like precision, the perfect foil to Federico's wild-eyed New Yorker.
Brilliant, flash cutaways of Federico's obstacle-course of city streets, restaurants, and casting call wait rooms, balance his blistering tirade, a monologue of an actor's misfortune and an indictment of the impenetrable establishment.
If ever there was a film that spoke to the masses of aspiring actors, writers, directors - artists - looking for the big break, besieged by the limitations of every day life, this is that film.
Oh - and the balloons are a small stroke of genius.
