Sundance tropes and wasteful binging

See enough movies in a given year and everything finds its way into a type. Genre films and Hollywood blockbusters tend to categorize themselves, but even many independent festival movies (the ones touted as original) follow a specific set of familiar story and character points.

“The Fundamentals of Caring” is the definition of a “Sundance Movie.” The Paul Rudd-led dramedy, which premiered at this year’s festival and is now exclusively available on Netflix’s streaming service, can be characterized by a number of familiar tropes you’ve seen from other Sundance darlings. These include:

• A comedic actor playing a depressed loner and/or someone reeling from personal tragedy

• Dying kid or dead kid flashbacks

• Acerbic kid with a mental/physical disability

• An overworked-but-well-meaning motherly figure

• A troubled-but-beautiful young love interest, often played by a pop star

• Alternative/soft rock soundtrack by indie-cred musicians

• Road trips where hilarity ensues

“The Fundamentals of Caring” hits all of these beats, and if you’ve seen Sundance breakouts like “Little Miss Sunshine” or “Me and Earl and the Dying Girl,” you can’t help but notice the tropes.

Critics have long identified Sundance as a place where movie stars go to sell their superficial art films. Good films still come out of the festival, of course, but you definitely can’t ignore the Hollywood influence. On the other side of the argument, major movie studios rarely make anything outside of sequels and franchises, so at least good, likeable actors are finding work outside of spandex and capes.

“Caring” follows Paul Rudd as a caretaker for a British teen (Craig Roberts of another, better festival breakout, “Submarine”) who has a rare form of muscular dystrophy. It doesn’t take long for them to hit the road (around the Inland Northwest) in search of roadside oddities and tourist traps. On the road, they meet a troubled runaway (pop star Selena Gomez), and life lessons are learned.

Rudd plays a man still reeling from personal tragedy, and though it tries to deflect its saccharine tendencies, the movie is very much about this character rediscovering joy and meaning through his relationship with “The Wheelchair Kid™.” This isn’t a knock to anyone in a wheelchair, it’s just an example of something Hollywood movies often use as a shortcut for real character growth.

Another example: There’s a scene that juxtaposes a dead kid flashback with a harried roadside baby delivery (no joke). It won’t take a film studies degree to decipher the thematic intention, but it’s not because the movie earns any kind of emotional honesty.

While “The Fundamentals of Caring” is lazy and ingenuine with its drama, the movie at least knows the importance of letting charismatic performers work over the material. Rudd and Roberts have terrific chemistry, and their crass interplay pumps the movie with more laughs than it probably deserves. There are long stretches where the gear-grinding, “Sundance” screenplay is believably executed because Rudd and Roberts are selling the relationship, and the actors know how to underplay some of the more heavy-handed content.

The overall result is something that feels very familiar to rewatching “Little Miss Sunshine.” It’s undeniably charming, but the screenplay mechanizations hinder your full engagement.

Some things shouldn’t

be binged

The new season of “Orange is the New Black” premiered on a Friday, and it wasn’t even Sunday before the Internet was plastered with spoilers from the final episodes.

The Netflix streaming model invites rabid consumption. I just think it’s a horrible way to watch good television.

I’ve tried to watch only one or two episodes of “Orange is the New Black” within any 24-hour period. One night I attempted to push through a third episode, and it just felt wrong, like I was insulting creator Jenji Kohan with my casual, selfish binging.

The ENTIRE new season of “Orange is the New Black” is brilliant, including all the stuff that happens in those early, less-discussed episodes. I don’t want to talk about the shocking cliffhangers, I want to talk about individual character arcs and all the quiet moments that lead to (REDACTED). This is the best show on television, so why are we burning through 13 episodes in a weekend and forcing ourselves to wait an entire year for more?

Good things deserve to be savored, not scarfed.

•••

Tyler Wilson can be reached at twilson@cdapress.com.