The Sleepover

A day proceeds according to routine habitual chill random expectations 😜, imaginary impulses confidently broadcast, friends consulted, schoolwork resumed.

For a sister the evening's provocative inasmuch as a wild party awaits (Sadie Stanley as Clancy Finch), her brother looking forward to a wholesome sleepover camped out in his old school backyard (Maxwell Simkins as Kevin). 

But earlier in the day, he was caught on video, randomly gesticulating with animate poise, his mother critiquing the mean-spirited cinematographer, who posted the private moment to YouTube.

Par for the course, although potentially harmful to his budding young developing self-esteem, he isn't phased, content and casual, back at it self-aware renditions.

Yet calamity strikes through shocking revelation later on in the laidback night, for his mom was also featured in the cantankerous clip (Malin Åkerman as Margot), which was viewed by curious millions.

Including the old gang of thieves she once led in an alternative life, before relocating to witness protection, they attempt to make larcenous headway.

Assertive coercion reluctant submission an awkward reunion impacting immediacy, her newfound cherished bourgeois family life haunting imposed begrudged nostalgia. 

Her husband's been kidnapped too and is unaccustomed to reckless crime (Ken Marino as Ron). 

He enjoys running his bakery.

Ordering pizza, PTA meetings.

High stakes shenanigans jocosely materialize inordinately spastically ensue, as requisite improbability seeks fortuitous fortune, by any spirited means necessary.

The mood is lightheartedly salient insofar as it lacks ostentatious pretensions, preferring to harness lackadaisical endearment as it crafts ill-conceived adventure.

Youthful trials are mischievously mixed with sober mature yet resigned matriculation, the resultant intergenerational mayhem concocting playful atemporal innocence.

The application of logic seems ill-suited to this specific endeavour, since applications of reasonability would instantly stultify its joie de vivre. 

Simkins delivers a performance that tumultuously holds things together, his intense emphatic enthusiasm as joyful as it is productively mischievous.

So important to embrace freeform unabashed inspired horseplay at times, as long as it isn't causing a ruckus, that results in grievous discernment.

It's great to see exuberant expression overflowing with novel unconcern.

Untamed and unrestrained.

Absurd creative momentum.