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Our filthy hero Gus mutters to himself, just before stealing a white Rolls Royce. He happens upon Ruby, a stunning tattoo artist he's always had a thing for, and waves her into the convertible. The misfits escape the city and into nature, sharing a joint, wondering why things used to be so much cooler in the '70s. Asthma is a modern romance that explores addiction in a fresh and honest way. She warns him not to fall in love with her, but the higher you are the harder you fall.
It must be possible to make a movie in which the hero is a trust-fund baby/heroin addict/car thief and still maintain some rooting interest in the story's outcome. Asthma is not that movie.
Jake Hoffman's feature film directorial debut, Asthma, deploys almost every romantic comedy trope there is, all the while throwing in heroin to give it some street cred.
Gus just isn't a guy I liked spending time with, watching him meander around gracelessly about as entertaining as having tiny hot needles poked into my eyes A Clockwork Orange-style.
A film about ennui-filled photogenic folk who can scarcely muster enough curiosity or imagination to be interested in each other, let alone the wider world, is always going to struggle to win the interest of any viewer.