Take the Money and Run

In a whimsically fashioned world that feels part documentary, part faux‑historical archive, a shy, book‑smart underachiever dreams of fame through criminal notoriety. Virgil Starkwell drifts through his small town with the earnestness of a man who has read every self‑help book on how to be bold, yet constantly trips over his own nervous habits. The film’s lens captures him through the eyes of those who love and observe him—parents who hide behind Groucho glasses, teachers who try to steer him toward honesty, and a surprisingly patient partner who seems to accept his missteps with gentle humor.

The tone is unmistakably Allenian: dry, self‑deprecating wit collides with slapstick situations, all presented as if a serious documentary crew were trying to make sense of a life that teeters between earnest ambition and absurd failure. The narrative is stitched together with talking‑head interviews, grainy “archival” footage, and a chorus of bemused acquaintances, creating a playful parody of true‑crime storytelling. This stylistic choice keeps the audience perched between empathy and laughter, as each anecdote feels both a character study and a comedic set‑piece.

Louise, Virgil’s long‑suffering yet affectionate wife, anchors the story with a steady presence that balances his frantic aspirations. Their relationship is portrayed as a gentle counterpoint to his clumsy attempts at grandeur, offering moments of quiet warmth amid the surrounding chaos. Together, they navigate a world where everyday encounters seem to amplify Virgil’s quirks, and where the line between sincere ambition and comic disaster is perpetually blurred.

At its core, the film invites viewers into a delightfully off‑beat portrait of a man whose greatest crime is perhaps simply trying too hard. Through a blend of mock seriousness and heartfelt observation, it sets up a comedic journey that promises both laughter and a surprisingly tender look at the lengths one will go to be noticed.

Last Updated: August 10, 2025 at 14:18