The two are also in grand attire, with Greg’s hair washed and blown out, and every now and then passersby are seen as glitchy computer generated images – FGPs, or Fake Generated Persons, as Isabel tells us. “I’m living off the grid”) and pulling back the veil, the two are at a grand Riviera estate with Bill Nye in a tuxedo addressing Isabel as a doctor and professor. The film bounces us to Isabel’s digs, something of a hobo encampment within the confines of the concrete channel that is the L.A. I did, but the Mutt and Jeff contrast abates early.)
(Some people might find the pairing of Hayek and Wilson a curious one. It also looks like he hasn’t washed his hair in weeks. It’s here that we learn Greg is newly divorced, his daughter is graduating college and he’s been living in a motel somewhere around the corner. Curiosity piqued, Greg takes a seat, tunes in and over the course of a soul-nourishing scotch, the thick-haired maven (Isabel, as the film has it), operating with shamanistic authority, pops a few magic crystals and makes Greg’s office worries disappear. “You’re real,” she exclaims, pointing a finger at him like she has him snared in a tractor beam. At Plato’s Dive (said watering hole ) Greg is called out by a woman (Salma Hayek) sitting across the dark divide in a booth. But where Cahill goes from there becomes muddled and disconcerting. You’re hooked Greg’s either liberated from the yoke of unappreciative capitalism or en route to a 10-to-life term for manslaughter. It’s a grandly dark and goofy (mostly because of Wilson’s shaggy dog persona) waltz in. In short order he’s called in and terminated but before the escorted-out-of-the-office walk of shame takes place, Greg accidentally kills his former boss, decides to cover it up (in a great tracking shot) and heads to the bar next door to steel his nerves. The place Greg works at, Technical Difficulties, is a pressure cooker, bleeding business to cheaper, India-based call centers needless to say, Greg’s artistic malaise doesn’t bode well with his coworkers. “Bliss” begins something like a Mike Judge offering (“Idiocracy,” “Office Space”) with an IT office cog gloriously named Greg (Owen Wilson) who doodles sketches of a fetching woman on some exotic veranda. It grips and grabs as his former film did, but the result’s not nearly as compelling. Mike Cahill, the somber indie voice behind “Another Earth” (2011) where alternate realities coincided, overlapped and collided, retools the concept here with a bigger palette and broader ambition.
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