3.5 stars (out of 5)
By R. Kurt Osenlund
If Juno MacGuff's baby were fathered by Benjamin Braddock, then adopted by Napoleon Dynamite, the poor kid would probably grow up to be a lot like Aura, the distinctly un-grown-up protagonist of the hip-to-be-square indie of the moment, “Tiny Furniture.” A recent college graduate with a too-cool-for-school vocabulary who's never not walking through – or slouching in, or fornicating in – a quirky environment, Aura is a pop-art portrait of Millennial malaise, a sideways-moving antiheroine who rarely meets a situation she can't talk her way out of with an overly witty phrase. To boot, she's especially unpretty, which, these days, and in this genre, gives her instant credibility – Beat Cred, if you will. Depending on your filmic tastes, an eccentric flick with a de-glammed lead who draws comparisons to three of the most T-shirt-ready personalities of popular cinema may sound like a delight or a nightmare. For me, it was a little bit of both.
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