Dean (2016)

Dean is special because it treats grief like something lived-in and awkward, not neatly inspirational, and then finds real laughter and tenderness in the mess. Demetri Martin’s offbeat, quietly observant humor pairs beautifully with his own sketches, giving the film a hand-drawn intimacy that makes even small moments feel personal. As a romance it’s sweet and slightly clumsy in the best way—two people circling connection while life keeps tugging them back to unfinished feelings—and Kevin Kline brings a grounded warmth that deepens the family story without ever turning it heavy-handed. If you’re looking for big, glossy rom-com fireworks this may feel modest, but if you want a gentle, funny, genuinely heartfelt movie about healing, it sneaks up on you and stays.

Dean is clearly trying to be a gentle, offbeat rom-com about grief—using Demetri Martin’s minimalist, awkward-sweet persona to show a guy stumbling toward healing and connection. The problem is it often feels more like a string of lightly amusing sketches than a fully satisfying story, with the emotional beats (especially the loss) touched on rather than truly explored. If you’re looking for a romance with real heat or a grief comedy with genuine depth and momentum, this may come off slight and a bit derivative. Still, if you enjoy Martin’s low-key humor, doodly charm, and small, human moments, there’s enough warmth here to make it a pleasant, low-stakes watch.