I saw almost every move in Destin Cretton’s I Am Not a
Hipster coming from a mile away. Depressive indie musician gives awkward radio
interview? Check. He’s suffering through a bad break-up and will surely do
something stupid? Check. His dim-bulb best friend turns out to be more with-it
than originally thought? Check. Objectively, it may well be a terrible movie. So
why then did I kind of enjoy it?
