Comic actor Will Arnett finally gets a straight dramatic role and he’s playing … a comedian. Well, a would-be comedian. But he’s not an outrageously awful or failing one; the point of this film is not the delicious ironic cringe of delusional loserdom, as it is with Arnett’s small-screen roles such as the hopeless magician Gob Bluth in Arrested Development, or the washed-up equine star in the animation BoJack Horseman, or even his scheming figure skater Stranz Van Waldenberg in the movie Blades of Glory.

Arnett plays Alex, a regular guy with a regular job, married with two young kids but unhappily heading for divorce. He discovers standup comedy by performing in an open mic slot one night on a weed-fuelled whim, and finds that audiences love his unfunny but sweetly honest confessional ramblings. And then he kind of improves – but are we supposed to think by the end that he is, in fact, genuinely funny? It’s not entirely clear. And the film, though likable and spirited and nicely acted, isn’t completely convincing on its own terms. It is, after all, intended to be funny on its own account.

Are we required to believe, for example, that Alex is talented at and committed to comedy in the way his wife Tess (Laura Dern) is supposed to have a vocation for coaching volleyball? Or is standup just a cathartic, meaningful episode through which he might pass before returning to his day-job in finance, with which he might honourably support his children but which is never shown and which apparently never supplies any material?

This is a kind of remarriage comedy, directed and co-written by Bradley Cooper who also appears, interestingly awarding himself a classic Arnett-type role: an annoying and grinningly conceited unemployed actor called Balls (is that a first name? Surname? Nickname?).

The film was inspired by an autobiographical anecdote by the British comic John Bishop, who says he semi-accidentally stumbled into comedy one night in the midst of divorce depression. Of course, that anecdote could be like the stories told by tough-guy actors about how they didn’t mean to get into acting, they just went along with their mate to the audition. But in this business it doesn’t have to be 100% true – just entertaining.

It is clear that Alex and Tess’s marriage is dying. It is a slow, agonising implosion due to Tess’s discontent at having given up her thriving sports career to be a stay-at-home mom to the two kids they had via IVF, and Alex’s lack of support for her incipient depression. Their married friend group are not especially helpful: Stephen and Geoffrey (played by real-life marrieds Sean Hayes and Scott Icenogle) are secure but the appallingly immature Balls and his smart, sharp-tongued wife Christine (Andra Day) have difficulties of their own.

What all these people have in common is that they can’t really help Alex. Like a standup comic who semi-ironically suspects his microphone isn’t working, lonely Alex feels he isn’t being heard. But then he chances upon a comedy club and, to get in without paying the $15 cover charge, impulsively signs up to do five minutes. Finally, he winds up performing regular gigs without telling his wife, cheating on her with comedy itself, and doing material about their grisly sex life. Tess’s discovery of all this is spectacularly embarrassing.

And her reaction? Well, it’s not really believable, but Dern and Arnett are such good performers and work so sympathetically together that it comes off perfectly well in the moment. What might have been more plausible is that Alex, so far from being inspired by comedy to renew his relationship, sees the comedy value in its uproarious breakdown and creates more and more real-life opportunities to generate material, and Tess senses that she is becoming the butt of a joke of whose existence she has not yet uncovered.

Arnett has such a gentle face: handsome yet sensitive and wounded, the kind of face that you want to stroke sympathetically. He’s a good actor, and never anything other than committed, and it’s a relief in some ways to see a drama about comedians who aren’t supposed to be dark or malign. But I’d like to see a film about a comedian who, like Bishop, really does flower into being funny.

Ray J says his days are numbered — and the number he’s citing is 2027.

“Just almost died!! I’m alive because of your prayers and support!!” the singer wrote in an Instagram caption posted Sunday.

“I wanna thank everyone for praying for me. I was in the hospital,” he said in the accompanying video. “My heart is only beating like 25%, but as long as I stay focused and stay on the right path, then everything will be all right, so thank you for all your prayers.”

It was a different story in another livestream, however, captured in clips on the @Livebitez Instagram page.

“2027 is definitely a wrap for me,” the 45-year-old, real name William Ray Norwood Jr., said in one video posted Tuesday, making a “cut off” motion across his neck.

“No, don’t say that, brother,” a friend says off camera.

“That’s what the doctor says,” Ray J replied meekly, then seemingly grew frustrated as his friend talked loudly over him and insisted he was going to live long enough to see his children’s children.

In the next clip, the singer says, “It don’t matter if my days are counted. But guess what — my baby mama gonna be straight. My kids are gonna be straight. If they want to spend all the money they can spend it, but I did my part here.”

Then he looks up and tells his friend, “I shouldn’t have went this hard, bro. I shouldn’t have went hard. And then, when it’s all done, burn me, don’t bury me.”

In clips assembled on the next Livebitez post, Ray J admits heavy alcohol and drug use and says that messed up his heart “on the right side, here, it’s like, black. It’s like done.” He said he might go to Haiti to “do some voodoo” because he thinks “they got the cure.”

He also said he thought he was “bigger” and “had more weight” to put up against the onslaught of substances. “I thought I could handle all the alcohol, I could handle all the Adderall.”

Cut to the next clip where he says he thought he “could handle all the drugs, but I couldn’t. … And it curbed my time here.”

In a final collection of clips, Ray J mentions the criminal protective order put in place by the court after a run-in with the law in November. .

Ray J was arrested in Los Angeles on suspicion of making criminal threats, an LAPD spokesman told The Times in late November. The singer allegedly pointed a gun at ex-wife Princess Love during a heated argument that happened during a livestream at Thanksgiving.

Because of the protective order related to that incident, he isn’t allowed to see her or their kids, Melody, 7, and Epik, who turned 6 last month. He said in court documents reviewed by Page Six that he pointed the gun at her to keep her from driving the kids away from his house after a drunken family holiday.

In the final batch of clips, he says his parents were picking him up “tomorrow” for a doctor appointment. He mentions that sister Brandy had paid his bills “for the rest of the year. That’s crazy.”

Despite the singer-actor picking up his tab, Ray J says his kids have “at least $10 million” in their trust fund account.

The R&B singer was hospitalized in early January in Las Vegas, sidelined by heart pain and pneumonia, according to TMZ. Four years ago, he battled pneumonia as well.

Who could have predicted that “Lethal Weapon” would turn out to be one of the most influential films ever made?

The film’s writer, Shane Black, probably guessed. He never lacked confidence. The original draft of “Lethal Weapon” included smart-alecky asides, like a description of a cliffside mansion as “the kind of house I’ll buy when this movie is a huge hit.” It was, and the result turbocharged the buddy action formula that powered a string of box office hits, from “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid” and “Uptown Saturday Night” through “48 HRS” and “Running Scared.” Mel Gibson’s long-haired, widowed, suicidal loner cop Martin Riggs gets partnered with Danny Glover’s older, wiser, more measured family man Roger Murtaugh. Although they start out hating each other, by the end each man has gained a new friend, and the once isolated Riggs is welcomed into the Murtaugh family.

The Prime Video movie “The Wrecking Crew” is another entry in that vein, complete with story beats familiar from Black’s first produced script (especially in the final half-hour) and an overall Blackesque vibe, especially in the dialogue. Dave Bautista plays the rock-solid family man, James Hale, a former Navy SEAL turned drill instructor who has a house near Honolulu, a beautiful and charming child psychologist wife, Leila (Roimata Fox), and two adorable kids. Jason Momoa plays the loose cannon partner, James’ half-brother Jonny, a long-haired, hard-drinking, impetuous cop on an Oklahoma reservation who is introduced getting dumped by his long-neglected girlfriend Valentina (Morena Baccarin) on her birthday. (When she asks Jonny if he knows what day it is, he pauses nervously, then guesses “Wednesday?”)

The brothers have been estranged for more than 20 years. But when their father, Walter, a sleazy private eye, gets killed in a hit-and-run accident while working a case in Honolulu, Jonny swallows his pride and flies to Hawaii for the funeral, setting up the inevitable reconciliation, plus lots of skillfully choreographed, sometimes slyly funny action sequences.

It’s all sprinkled with banter, some of it openly hostile, some profane and teasing but affectionate deep down, like stuff brothers would say to each other while roughhousing. Of course, the mystery turns out to be one more variant of “Chinatown,” involving a very sketchy real estate deal/land theft and intimations of a conspiracy that goes right to the top. Temuera Morrison plays Hawaii’s fictional governor, Peter Mahoe, who, of course, is part of the conspiracy. A governor doesn’t show up at the funeral of a bottom-feeding private detective that even his sons loathed unless he’s connected to the main story and the family guiding us through it.

Claes Bang plays real estate mogul Marcus Robichaux, an heir to a sugar fortune who hopes to get even richer from his crimes. Naturally, there’s a small army of security guys and henchmen for the brothers to punch, shoot, stab, and incinerate—a mix of city-roaming Yakuza foot soldiers (a band of whom attacked Jonny in Oklahoma, demanding a thumb drive his dad supposedly sent him) and a squad of gym-burly Caucasian dudes with quasi-military haircuts. An yes, there’s weird, repulsive, deranged chief henchman, Nakamura (Miyavi), a reptilian dandy who snorts cocaine off a drink tray at one of Robichaux’s glammed-out parties, then taunts James, who is posing as a caterer, right to his face.

What makes “The Wrecking Crew” worth seeing is what the cast and filmmakers do with the material. Simply put, this movie is better than its synopsis suggests, though not good enough to entirely overcome the familiarity of the component parts and the alternately jokey and sentimental tone (which is harder to pull off than studio executives seem to think). More so than “Lethal Weapon,” this evokes two less successful (yet still much-loved) Shane Black movies, “Kiss Kiss Bang Bang” and “The Nice Guys.” Some of the action is ludicrous, but most of it is modestly scaled. And the characters are written and performed in a way that makes them recognizably human, even though the Hale brothers are, to quote Stephen Root‘s cop character, “two guys who look like they eat steroid pancakes for breakfast.”

Momoa and Bautista are two of the best actors to become movie stars by passing through the superhero factory, and they get a chance to prove that here, while still delivering what most viewers will expect: chases, shootouts, explosions, frat-house insults, moments of manly vulnerability, and a scene where the brothers get into a huge brawl. The leads are convincing as a straightlaced but too-tightly wound older brother with a stable home life and a flamboyantly self-destructive younger sibling whose adulthood has been defined by rage at the horrors visited upon the brothers in their youth (including the old man’s affairs, one of which produced Jonny). Jonny has PTSD for sure, and it seems a safe bet that James has a touch as well.

It’s an indicator of the movie’s specialness that the most impressive scene isn’t the brother-on-brother street fight in pouring rain, but the aftermath when they sit together on the pavement, bruised and bloody, and talk about the sources of their pain. Runner-up is the moment when the brothers embrace at the end of their mission, beaten and spent, and the mask of adulthood falls away, revealing the scared little boy who needed more love than he got and the older brother who failed to provide it.

Jonathan Tropper, who adapted “This is Where I Leave You” and co-created the action series “Banshee” and “Warrior,” wrote the script, which has more nuance and depth than you’d expect in a movie where trucks and cars fly through the air before exploding. It has a binding theme, forgiveness, and is filled with journalistic details of modern Hawaiian culture, locating the initial killing in a Honolulu neighborhood where such things have happened in real life; sending the brothers to the Hawaiian Home Land, which is stewarded under the Aha Moku system of resource management; reserving soundtrack slots for Indigenous music (like Ka’Ikena’s “Brains”); and peppering conversations with local idioms and slang. Jonny calls another character a squid, out-of-state speculators are referred to as “haole,” and the family name Hale is pronounced “HALL-ay” and translates as “home.”

Indeed, the entire movie is a tribute to the specifics of distinct cultures and the richness of a society that brings them together, while acknowledging that the fusion was forced by colonialism and crony capitalism, and that the conquered have justified resentments over that. The cast is filled with actual Hawaiians, especially Indigenous actors, including Momoa, who is half Native Hawaiian. (Bautista is Greek-Filipino, but should be welcomed under the Pacino as Latino Act of 1983) Even Baccarin gets to honor her own roots; half-Brazilian, she briefly speaks Portuguese, setting up another good joke on Jonny.

Director Angel Manuel Soto, who came to Hollywood by way of San Juan, Puerto Rico, has made three films in a row (“Charm City Kings,” “Blue Beetle,” and this one) that are culturally specific within genres that haven’t traditionally been welcoming to people like him. He’s good at everything the movie requires, including quiet moments of character development that you don’t normally find here. Although it looks backward to previous Hollywood hits, in all the ways that count, this movie is the future.