The Pleasure of Being Robbed

The movie's refusal to judge is its most interesting attribute, if one many audiences won't be able to get around.

Few ticketbuyers will take joy in The Pleasure of Being Robbed, Joshua Safdie's pranksterish New York indie portrait of a deeply unsympathetic young distaff hustler.

Less pleasurable after the first fifteen minutes.

Exposes itself as a technically deficient bore with little on its agenda.

Affects an air of expressionistic realism but has no interest in actual believability.

"The Pleasure of Being Robbed" isn't exactly a criticism of its generational brethren, but it is a fundamental improvement, a small quiet film that sees its small quietness with a sympathetic sadness

Our morbid curiosity for this criminal activity, akin to public gawking at traffic accidents, effectively lures us into complicity with both her and the filmmaker. And despite the moral implications constantly tugging on our collective conscience.

A charming indie title, suffused with the spirit of the French New Wave of the early sixties and possessed of a quirky likeability.

"Mumblecore" is the trendy term being thrown about to describe this film and its ilk, as if all this slacker randomness is some kind of acceptable cinematic companion to alternative music (which can often suck badly, too). Let's just call it pure, undilut