Jenny Slate’s laughter comes out in a wild gush, as though she’s been shaken and uncorked, the sound somehow puppyishly sweet and punkishly impolite. Her characters, cheery cynics, often fail to quite match the mood of a room, so their amused eruptions can hurt feelings, stir bafflement, inspire the ol’ stink eye from the stiffs worth laughing at. In Landline, Gillian Robespierre’s warm yet prickly comedy of sisters testing the limits of what life will allow them, Slate’s uncertain Dana shakes off her jitters about her engagement to a drab fiancé (Jay Duplass) by smoking a joint with a foxy alpha (Finn Wittrock) she used to hook up with in college. La Weekly: Review, Alan Scherstuhl.
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