The Heyday of the Insensitive Bastards (2015)

The Heyday of the Insensitive Bastards is the kind of small, scrappy film that sneaks up on you: a mosaic of seven vignettes that feels like flipping through someone’s half-remembered diary and realizing the entries are uncomfortably, beautifully human. It’s funny in that rueful, lived-in way and dramatic without posturing, letting each story stand on its own with characters who feel individual rather than “types,” even when their choices are messy. The movie’s real pleasure is how it keeps nudging you between fantasy and reality, memory and history, until you start recognizing your own contradictions in the gaps. It is a bit disjointed by design, so if you need one clean, linear story it may not click—but if you like fascinating, entertaining snapshots of people stumbling toward truth, it’s well worth your time.

The Heyday of the Insensitive Bastards is aiming for a wistful, literary anthology—seven snapshots that want to blur fantasy and reality and land on something quietly profound about being human. The problem is that the vignettes often feel more like rough drafts than fully formed stories, so just as you start to latch onto a character or idea, it cuts away and leaves you with little payoff. The tone drifts between drama and comedy without a strong throughline, and uneven performances and direction can make the whole thing feel amateurish rather than intentionally minimalist. If you like meandering, mood-first indies and don’t need clear arcs or satisfying conclusions, you might find a few moments of charm, but if you’re looking for coherence, momentum, or emotional catharsis, this will likely test your patience.