By Dennis Hartley

If you’ve been lamenting the lack of a midlife crisis horror comedy tailored for the skate punk crowd, you’ve got one now. Whether that is an asset or a liability is, I suppose, in the eye of the beholder.

Writer-director Zach Weintraub casts himself as a harried middle-age suburban Seattle dad with a corporate gig and a thousand-yard stare that suggests midlife ennui. When  his wife and toddler daughter go off on a day trip, he decides to take a mental health day from work. He smokes a blunt, dons jeans, a tee and a faded flannel shirt, digs his old board out of the garage and heads for the skate park to see if he still has the moves.

At the park, he meets and bonds with a neophyte skater who obviously reminds him of his own halcyon days. He offers the young man a ride home; however once he learns the address of the house, things get weird. Then things proceed to get even…weirder.

The first half of the film (which is an amusing suburban satire) doesn’t prepare you for the second half (gross-out body horror). I was fine with the twists and turns, but Weintraub’s particular fixation with various excretory functions was a deal-breaker for me.