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Actor-turned-director Justin Theroux, remembered by most for his turn in David Lynch’s “Mulholland Drive” (or “Six Feet Under”), and rather than in paranoia, Theroux’s found his mood in misanthropy. Billy Crudup is a successful New York children’s book writer, Henry Roth (bearing the same name of the great, decades-blocked New York author of “Call It Sleep”). Grouch, obsessive-compulsive son-of-a-bitch, self-loathing jerk, you could slap any and all of that across Crudup’s features in this odd comedy. But you learn to love along with hate any Manhattanite who’s given to outbursts like “Life is nothing but the occasional burst of laughter rising above the interminable wail of grief.” (The alternately glib and inspired script is by David Bromberg.) When Roth’s best friend and collaborator Tom Wilkinson (aces, as always), dies, he has to find a new illustrator to finish the newest “Marty the Beaver” book, in the person of Lucy (Mandy Moore) and conventional rom-com-plications. (Diane Weist beams in as Lucy’s mom, homing in on signals from some distant wavelength.) With Christine Taylor, Amy Sedaris and Peter Bogdanovich. 93m. (Ray Pride)
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