While taking a vacation from taking a vacation, the titular and incognizant party boy of James White gets a call that his co-dependent mother’s stage four cancer has spread. The only things separating this from the typical disease-of-the-week tripe beamed directly to one’s satellite dish is first-time director Josh Mond’s weathered adherence to indie totems – jump cuts, tailing characters with a camera, constricting closeups, jiggering compositions – and Cynthia Nixon’s world-beating performance, one that rivals any of its kind that we’ve seen. Balancing her subtleties are the pay-attention-to-me pyrotechnics of Christopher Abbott as the brooding, thoroughly detestable son that only a mother can love. If watching a character slowly drop dead before your eyes – no matter how exactingly individualized the performance may be – is your idea of a good night at the movies, this comes highly recommended. (2015) — Scott Marks
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