Wakefield lacks the ambition and gonzo artistry of Trainspotting, A Clockwork Orange, or American Psycho. However, Robin Swicord's film is a rare, dark poem mined from the exploits of a truly wretched human being. Though attorney Howard Wakefield (Bryan Cranston) never kills anything except time, he only cares about people and things he can possess. One night, Howard decides to not come home from work. He spends a year spying on his family from the loft above their garage. Swicord, Cranston, and Jennifer Garner (as the beleaguered Mrs. Wakefield) expose every nook of our narrator’s fragile psyche. But Wakefield doesn’t care if you think the protagonist’s journey from self-absorbed bully to semi-self-actualized dumpster diver is a new-millennium American Beauty--or the nail in the coffin for cinematic portrayals of affluent white males in crisis. Its only demand is that you engage with The Other and recognize part of yourself within it.