Vengeance

There is a specific brand of New York City desperation that B. J. Novak has spent his career perfecting—the kind where you’re so terrified of being "basic" that you accidentally become a parody of a human being. In Vengeance, his directorial debut, he leans into this persona with the precision of a guy who has spent way too much time reading his own mentions on X. He plays Ben Manalowitz, a writer for The New Yorker who wants to be "the next big voice" in podcasting, despite having absolutely nothing to say.

I watched this film on a Tuesday night while trying to assemble a particularly difficult LEGO succulent set, and I found myself dropping the tiny green plastic leaves every time the movie made a joke about Whataburger. It’s that kind of film—it demands you pay attention to the dialogue because the humor isn't in the pratfalls; it's in the uncomfortable silence after a city slicker says something incredibly condescending to a guy holding a shotgun.

The Podcaster's Burden (and the Frito Pie)

The setup is pure dark comedy: Ben receives a middle-of-the-night call from a grieving Texan named Ty Shaw (Boyd Holbrook). Ty’s sister, Abilene (Lio Tipton), has died of an apparent overdose. The catch? Ben was just one of many casual "hookups" in Abilene’s phone, but her family in West Texas is convinced he was her deeply devoted boyfriend. Ben, sensing a "Blue State meets Red State" podcast goldmine, flies down to the funeral, not to mourn, but to exploit the tragedy for downloads.

This is where the movie gets its teeth. It would have been so easy for Novak (who also wrote the screenplay) to just spend 100 minutes making fun of Texans. Instead, he makes the "enlightened" New Yorker the biggest idiot in the room. Ben walks into a local family’s home looking for "stereotypes" and instead finds people who are more observant, more soulful, and significantly more dangerous than he anticipated. The chemistry between B. J. Novak and Boyd Holbrook—who is absolutely magnetic here—is the engine of the film. Boyd Holbrook plays Ty with a sincerity that makes Ben’s cynical recording of their grief feel genuinely dirty.

Western Philosophy and White Cowboy Hats

While the film is marketed as a mystery/thriller, it’s really a talky, philosophical comedy. Nowhere is this more apparent than when Ashton Kutcher shows up. Ashton Kutcher plays Quentin Sellers, a local music producer who looks like he wandered off the set of a high-fashion Stetson commercial. He delivers these long, meandering monologues about the nature of storytelling and the "death of the individual" that should feel pretentious, but instead, they’re the highlight of the movie. It’s probably the most unnerving and effective thing Kutcher has ever done, proving that he’s reached the "interesting character actor" phase of his career.

The mystery itself—did Abilene die of an overdose or was she murdered?—is almost secondary to the cultural clash. However, the "Blumhouse" influence (the production company usually associated with Get Out or The Purge) starts to bleed in during the final act. The transition from a fish-out-of-water comedy to a genuine thriller is a bit jarring, like someone suddenly dropped a tab of hot sauce into a vanilla milkshake. Some people might find the ending a bit "too much," but I think it’s a bold swing for a first-time filmmaker.

The Sound of Silence in a Loud Era

Being a product of the 2020s, Vengeance is obsessed with our current "content" culture. Issa Rae pops up in a few scenes as Ben’s podcast editor, and her role is essentially to remind the audience (and Ben) how hollow his ambitions are. In an era where every tragedy is immediately turned into a six-episode limited series, the film asks a very uncomfortable question: Are we actually listening to people, or are we just waiting for them to say something we can use for a viral clip?

The production value is sleek, with cinematography by Lyn Moncrief that captures the flat, terrifyingly vast landscape of West Texas. It feels empty and lonely, which contrasts perfectly with the cluttered, noisy headspace Ben brings from New York. Also, a quick shout-out to the score by FINNEAS (yes, Billie Eilish’s brother), which manages to feel contemporary and slightly anxious without ever overpowering the dialogue.

Despite having a cast of recognizable faces, Vengeance flew under the radar when it hit theaters in 2022, earning a meager $4.2 million. It’s one of those films that was perhaps "too smart for its own good" during a theatrical window dominated by franchise giants, but it’s the perfect discovery for a streaming audience looking for something with a bit more bite than your average rom-com. It’s a movie that rewards you for paying attention to the subtext, even if the main text is a guy trying to explain what a "deadpan" joke is to a family that just wants to eat their Frito pie in peace.

Ultimately, Vengeance is a sharp, witty, and surprisingly mean-spirited (in a good way) look at how we view our fellow citizens through the lens of a smartphone screen. B. J. Novak has managed to create a film that is both a love letter to and a brutal critique of the American heartland and the coastal elites who try to "explain" it. It’s not a perfect mystery, and the tonal shift at the end might give you whiplash, but it’s one of the most original scripts to come out of the early 2020s. If you’ve ever rolled your eyes at a True Crime podcast but listened to the whole thing anyway, this one is for you.