The New Age (1994)

The New Age is a razor-sharp little time capsule of Southern California self-invention, a dark comedy that laughs with a straight face while quietly twisting the knife. With crisp, committed performances at its center, it follows two glossy, overachieving spouses as their polished lives start to peel, and the film’s wit comes from how sincerely it lets them chase meaning in all the wrong, very fashionable places. The tone is dry, observant, and deliciously satirical—less sitcom punchlines than a steady drip of uncomfortable recognition—making its skewering of wealth, wellness, and self-affirmation feel oddly timeless. It won’t be for everyone if you prefer warm, cuddly redemption stories, but if you like smart, biting comedy that trusts you to catch the joke and feel the sting, it’s absolutely worth your time.

The New Age is clearly aiming for a sharp, satirical look at affluent emptiness and the way self-help culture can become a substitute for real accountability. The problem is it often feels uneven and oddly paced, drifting between comedy and drama without building much momentum, and the emotional distance can make it hard to care when things fall apart. Visually it’s pretty flat, and the ending may strike you as more manipulative than earned, like it’s pushing you toward a takeaway it hasn’t properly set up. If you enjoy uncomfortable character studies and can tolerate a meandering tone for the sake of the theme, there’s something to chew on here—but if you want a tightly told, emotionally involving dramedy, this probably isn’t your best use of time.