One of the trickiest film genres to master is the movie about making movies or worse, movie about people who write movies. As esteemed a profession as screenwriting may be, rarely does watching a frustrated wordsmith wrestle with his vocabulary make for sympathetic viewing, especially when the writer is spending more time talking about his work than actually producing it. It’s like a magician telling you the secrets to his tricks, explaining why they’re superior, then putting you back in the front row and expecting the show to dazzle your senses.

The Death of Hollywood, a full-length feature film from Monumental Pictures, is a black comedy with grand ambitions and an uneven execution. Part film noir and part industry satire, it wants to destroy the stale state of cinema and inject it with a new burst of innovation and bravery. It’s an admirable goal and a passionate attempt from writer/director Blake Fitzpatrick, but it never really figures out how to reconcile its film-centered approach with the mystery it wants to unravel.

Our story centers on Joe King (played by Philip Denver and yes, pun carefully intended), a frustrated screenwriter whose latest project--an adaptation of a great novel by a recently deceased author--has been rejected in favor of a more formulaic PG13  version written by a soulless hack. Things briefly looks up when Joe meets an easy-on-the-eye (and easier in bed) femme fatale (Sharon Wright) who mysteriously dies after their night of passion. Sensing a setup, Joe dumps the body and leaves town in favor of a simpler life.

Of course, simple lives don’t make movies (even small indie ones), and Joe’s newly established office monkey existence is quickly challenged when he discovers he works  a few floors down from Harry Goldman, the same hotshot producer that shot down his script and killed his career. Even better, Joe bares a striking resemblance--conveniently enough, straight down to the identical pinched tenor--to Harry. One home ear piercing kit and a pair of contacts later and Joe is successfully impersonating his doppelganger while moonlighting as an eager mechanic and maniacal kidnapper.

With his mortal enemy cuffed to a chair and stuffed out of sight, Joe smoothly assumes Harry’s identity, charming his alcoholic secretary, pleasing the previously bored Mrs. Goldman, and using some pull to transform the next batch of studio-produced films into genuine works of...well, we can’t really be sure. The Death of Hollywood purports to take on the tired conventions of cinema, but Joe’s ideas simply don’t come across as that radical. Scrapping remakes and refusing to tone down an R-rated script is certainly an admirable code most film fans want to see followed, but it's hardly revolutionary. We never hear what makes Joe’s beloved script so groundbreaking, and the only original pitch he throws out is a thriller about vampires hunting criminals (so...Blade?). Sure, he makes a passing reference to Quentin Tarantino and takes a few snide barbs at Madonna and David Hasslehoff, (the latter two in one conversation) but there’s nothing in Joe’s vocabulary to make us believe in his potential as the next, well, Tarantino.

The vagueness of Joe’s ambitions would be excused if his adventures achieving them were entertaining and at times, they are. Newcomer Phillip Denver gives his all in the dual roles of Joe and Harry, putting a nerdily endearing spin on two sometimes irksome characters. It would probably have been more heartfelt had Fitzpatrick dropped the 'cool' factor Joe attempts to show off in early scenes (it’s hard to believe sex is such an easy hobby for a square like Joe), but Denver grows on you. Whether you fully accept his Harry Goldman as a Hollywood power player is questionable, but the interplay between Joe’s unqualified criminal and the bored hostage is amusing enough.

Other characterization is hit and miss. Seth Correa’s Boris, Joe’s new car shop boss, is a vodka-swigging Russian stereotype, which could be funny if the script didn’t force him to call attention to it with every line and zero irony. Joe Estevez, on the other hand, has fun with what feels like an extended cameo, easily lending a seasoned charm. Most of the supporting cast, however, is hampered by stiff lines and sadly, some very rough audio. The climax is a dialogue-heavy group conversation filled with revelations and pointed jokes, but half of the actual conversation is muffled in an echo. While some of the fuzzier lighting can be excused by the film’s low budget, it’s also a bit of missed opportunity. Considering the plot’s noir leanings, some more innovative use of shadow and camera placement may have worked to both cover up the budgetary limits and add some sultry style.

Fitzpatrick does make some interesting choices in the film’s dark coda, inserting some surprising violence that suddenly takes the film into unfamiliar and mean-spirited territory. The switch is somewhat refreshing if you consider the mood swing a reflection of Joe’s desire to ‘kill’ the expected conventions of modern movies. At the same time, some of the more visceral violence feels more like a filmmaker showing off his knack for decent gunshot effects than organic character actions.

The Death of Hollywood wears the mark of an early feature made on limited finances, but it does have an earnestness that’s not without its charm. Most of the humor falls flat, but there are a few clever moments that keep you watching in interest. Audiences fascinated with the idea of movie making may find a lot to enjoy here, but the inconsistent humor and half-hearted attempts at mystery keep it from hitting its main mark. If you'd like to learn more about The Death of Hollywood and future screenings, you can visit the film's official website: http://www.deathofhollywood.com