It’s not Zoe Kazan’s fault she’s basically a caricature of the manic pixie dream girl, with her tiny frame and huge eyes and squeaky-chipper voice. That said, she doesn’t exactly pick roles that play against type.
In “The Pretty One,” Kazan (“Ruby Sparks”) is both of a set of twins, Laurel and Audrey; the latter is a polished, savvy go-getter and the former, a schlumpy homebody with a Mennonite sense of style.
When Audrey is killed in a car accident, Laurel is mistaken for her sister in the hospital and doesn’t correct the mix-up, allowing it to facilitate her exit from a stagnant existence taking care of her widowed dad. In assuming Audrey’s life, she gradually comes to realize that the sister she idolized was actually sort of a nightmare.
First-time feature director Jenée LaMarque wisely casts Jake Johnson (“New Girl”) as Basel, Audrey’s put-upon tenant and Laurel’s eventual love interest. A master of gruff charm, Johnson brings an honesty to his scenes that feels absent in much of the rest of the film, which can’t seem to decide whether it’s a “Napoleon Dynamite”-style surreal comedy or a straight-ahead romantic fable.
Instead, it veers awkwardly between the two. One subplot has the twins’ dad (John Carroll Lynch) making a living painting awful forgeries (“They’re not forgeries, they’re copies!”) of famous works of art, including a recurring “Mona Lisa.” I suppose it’s meant to denote the deep mysteries inside Laurel, who’s just finding her voice, but the symbolism seems pretty forced.
Also, even for an absurdist plot like this, scant attention is paid to keeping the film’s internal reality consistent. Laurel morphs overnight from a timid shut-in to a spot-on impersonator of her sister, who knew how to apply makeup and coordinate stylish outfits and interact with the world.
Ron Livingston makes an appearance as a married man with whom Audrey was having an affair, but seems rather miscast as a remorseless cheater.
“The Pretty One” does find a handful of genuinely sweet moments in which Basel and Laurel bond on letting their respective freak flags fly. Like the film itself, Kazan is at her best when she’s not trying so hard to be cute.