Detective Fiction

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Everyone talks a lot in “Detective Fiction,” but darned if they say anything.

Patrick Coyle is, in this case, a quadruple threat: He wrote, directed, produced and stars in this film, a low-key drama that is so underplayed, it forgets to have a point.

Coyle plays Jack, an introspective man whose marriage is on the fritz. His wife, Jennifer (Mo Collins), recently went through a mid-life crisis, quit her job, and went back to school. Jack, meanwhile, is writing a detective novel as an outlet for his thoughts. Anything’s better than communicating with his wife, apparently, who I should mention is having an affair.

There are individual scenes, especially at the beginning, that demonstrate a knack for creativity. One is a flashback to Jack’s childhood, when he first tasted beer; the other is a fantasy sequence involving a marriage counselor. Everything else is flat and stilted. These are some of the most boring characters ever put on film; in that sense, Jack and Jennifer deserve to stay together.

D (1 hr., 41 min.; R, a few harsh profanities, some mild sexuality.)

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