Smith’s debut, about the day in the life of two service-industry suburbanites, was made for $27,575. It’s hard to tell where all that money went, But the cruddy lensing and muddy sound actually enhance the experience. This spitball of nonstop scatology and pop-cult obsessiveness— what are the ethical implications of killing independent contractors aboard the Death Star?– feels like a bootleg copy of an adolescent mind. Signature line: “I’m not even supposed to be here today.”