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Awkward New York millennial Ruth takes a trip to the Hamptons with her awkward New York millennial friends. Amongst the laconic drug-doings and internecine romantic maneuverings, Ruth manages to meet an awkward New York millennial ghost in the property’s haunted coach house. This friendly but socially inept ghost fellow, Michael, is oddly solid for a ghost, and also sufficiently tumescent for a nice romp in the haunted coach house.

The next day, on the ride back from the Hamptons (who goes to the Hamptons for one night? I don’t know, I don’t go to the Hamptons), Ruth pukes in her friend’s car. From there, it’s all down-hill for Ruth, as she experiences ectoplasmic night-sweats, eldritch vaginal discharges, and non-therapeutic skin-peels.

So, first off, this is the first movie (as far as I know) that combines body horror with disaffected millennial angst. Interesting choice. Maybe millennials need a little more body horror in their lives; maybe that’s what’s been missing from that generation. Anywho, Ruth is very underdeveloped. As a character, I mean — her boobs were just fine. I’m guessing much of the dialogue in this movie was improvised, so maybe Ruth’s actress just wasn’t the improv sort. Which is ok, since millennials are typically rather underdeveloped anyways. And when they are developed, they’re mostly whiny and selfish, which was portrayed well by the other characters.

Now that I’m done with generation bashing, let’s talk ghosts. There’s definitely some new territory covered here. For example, I had no idea that humping a ghost would get you Ghost AIDS (or whatever it is). Ghostliness as STD, interesting idea. Also, the portrayal of Ghost Michael as just some dude that happens to be dead and doesn’t know how he feels about it is probably the best part of this movie. He’s not scary, or violent, or threatening, just rather lost and alone. The ghost sex arose naturally from his predicament, and the penalty that Ruth pays for her kindness inspires sympathy.

All in all, a decent enough flick with a few interesting ponderables. One thing that grates the nerves though is the soundtrack. It was done by somebody famous that I’ve never heard of (“Neon Indian” or some such). Some of it was good retro 80s synth stuff that is popular these days, and some of it sounds like Romper Room after a bad night at the strip club. Overall, it was more distracting than anything. So remember kids, just because you’re famous, doesn’t mean you’re any good.

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