Paint (2023)

Paint is a gently off-kilter character comedy that takes the cozy glow of public-access art TV and smudges it into something surprisingly human, letting Owen Wilson play against his own laid-back charm as a man whose confidence is as carefully brushed on as his landscapes. The film’s pleasure is in its vibe: small-town Vermont calm, wry workplace awkwardness, and a faintly melancholic undercurrent that turns laughs into little winces of recognition, all captured with warm, painterly cinematography and an easy, soothing soundscape. Michaela Watkins and Wendi McLendon-Covey give the story a lived-in texture, grounding the satire with real feelings and sharp timing as Carl’s world gets quietly rearranged. It’s not a big, punchline-driven comedy—more of a low-key, slightly odd rom-com drama about ego, aging, and starting over—but if you like your humor gentle and your character studies empathetic, this one sneaks up on you in the best way.

Paint is clearly aiming for a gentle, offbeat character comedy about a small-town TV art star facing irrelevance, and Owen Wilson’s mellow charm fits the cozy public-television vibe. The problem is it leans so hard on the Bob Ross-esque surface jokes that the story underneath feels thin, with pacing that drifts and character beats that don’t land with much punch. A lot of the humor is dry and low-energy, so if you’re expecting a sharper comedy or a satisfying romantic-drama arc, it may feel underpowered and oddly unfocused. If you like subdued, mildly quirky hangout movies and can enjoy the atmosphere more than the plot, there are pleasant moments, but this one won’t convert skeptics.