What happens if your online stalker happens to be just a sweet, lovable
What happens if your online stalker happens to be just a sweet, lovable mess? Hard to imagine, but that’s the oblique question at the heart of “Ingrid Goes West,” in which Aubrey Plaza plays the titular Ingrid, a sympathetic introvert with a need for attention from those at the top of the virtual trending list and an impulsive streak that often ends up going off the skids no matter the depth of her good intentions.
True to the title, Ingrid heads west after trading one unhealthy obsession for another. In the brief opener we witness her vengefully pepper-spraying a bride at a wedding she’s not invited to. What gives? It turns out the wedding crasher with an ax to grind showed up because of one online thread where she and the bride-to-be briefly connected and, in Ingrid’s delusional mind, believed the two were instant besties. In the wake of the humiliation and shame – and a stay in a psych ward – Ingrid’s next fixation becomes perky Instagram celebrity Taylor Sloane (Elizabeth Olsen), who’s living the fab life in Los Angeles “influencing” followers as to what to buy and where to nosh. Ingrid can’t get enough of Taylor, and with a $60,000 check from her mom’s estate decides to cross the continent to check out the healthy avocado toast at the new-agey cafe Taylor “just loves.”
Ingrid’s goofy attempts to “accidentally” ingratiate herself with Taylor come off awkwardly endearing at first – so much so you can almost forgive her for that mace incident – but then she kidnaps Taylor’s dog with the notion of being the hero that returns the Instagram-famous pup. It works for a moment as Taylor and her floundering artist husband Ezra (Wyatt Russell), who makes hashtag art (yes, you read that right), take a liking to their new friend. Ingrid revels in the union and postures that she has an actor boyfriend and a much more interesting life than that of a recently released inpatient.
It’s clear Ingrid’s a broken soul desperate for a human connection, virtually or otherwise, and just as the films looks as if there might be a happy ending, with all the principals realizing their vapid material dreams, Taylor’s gonzo, good-looking brother Nicky (Billy Magnussen) shows up. He’s the most vapid of the lot but has it in for Ingrid, digging with malice, trying to unmask and shake her at every turn. Needless to say, the unbridled vehemence subverts the film’s quirky buoyancy and matters turn dark.
Much of the film’s success can be attributed to Plaza, who makes her sociopathic wallflower remarkably nuanced and empathetic, beyond the trappings of the script. It’s a turn that’s tougher to pull off and more pivotal than Robert Pattinson’s conniving street urchin in “Good Time,”also opening in the area. The two films would make a heck of a double bill; moviegoers coming out of such a downer of a pairing might whip out their phones to move up their next therapy session.
Besides Plaza’s bravura take, the film gets a big lift from O’Shea Jackson Jr. (so good as his father, Ice Cube, in “Straight Outta Compton”), as Ingrid’s Batman-obsessed landlord and stand-in boyfriend on a double date. His Dan Pinto’s able to roll with the punches and sees something in Ingrid – that the audience does too – but chances are if Ingrid rolled up on your Facebook page and began to insinuate herself as relentlessly as she does here you’d be torn between a virtual hug and the block button.
The scene smolders in tight closeups, but before the grim gravity of Nick’s prospects can take root fully – or the psychiatrist can dig any deeper – Nick’s brother Connie (Robert Pattinson) bursts through the door and extracts his sibling. Has Nick been saved? For the moment, yes, but not in the bigger scheme of things. The two are incredibly tight (the Safdies are clearly drawing on their own sibling bond) but pretty much have only each other to draw on and limited financial resources; to keep the pack together, Connie cooks up a plan to rob a bank in the middle of the day, the execution and choreography of which is so hauntingly reminiscent of “Dog Day Afternoon” you half expect Al Pacino to pop out with chants of “Attica.” The lads do make off with the cash, but matters with ride sharing, dye packs and Nick’s emotional instability provide steep obstacles. It’s a riveting game of cat and mouse as the brothers dash down littered alleyways and into a mall atrium with the police a hot breath away. Just as they look to be in the clear, Nick crashes through a glass pane and is taken into custody. Where the story goes next is as unpredictable as its protagonist. 
So it’s no surprise “Logan Lucky” is a heist caper – though not nearly as hip as the “Ocean” films. It’s set at a massive Nascar speedway in North Carolina, with the bulk of its protagonists down-on-their-luck West Virginians. Glitz and glamour are scarce, but arrive in the form of Riley Keough (so wickedly good in “American Honey” and adding to her stock here) as one of the Logan clan in on a plot to drain the speedway’s vault, and Katie Holmes as the ex-wife who’s traded up in social class and occupies a sprawling McMansion. At the center looms lovable Jimmy Logan (Channing Tatum, who’s been in several of Soderbergh’s more recent projects, including the Mike in “Magic Mike”) a golden-armed QB who never made good his promise to play at the collegiate or professional level because of a bum knee; as a result he toils as a second-string laborer, and a prideful one at that, refusing financial help from the ex who’s constantly offering to buy him a cellphone so they can better coordinate handoffs of their beauty pageant-obsessed daughter. 
Jeremy Renner stars as Fish and Wildlife officer Cory Lambert, who gets enlisted by FBI agent Jane Banner (Elizabeth Olsen) to help solve the murder of a young Native American woman (Kelsey Asbille) on an Indian reservation. They’re assisted by the local sheriff (Graham Greene), who has ties to the native community. From Florida and unfamiliar with Native American traditions, Banner couldn’t be more of a fish out of water, and she’s also got that wet-behind-the-ears, can-do gene that made Clarice Starling so indelible in “The Silence of the Lambs.”
For What it's Worth 