Filmmaker Emilio Mauro has a lot to say. Following the likes of Quentin Tarantino and Kevin Smith for inspiration – both of whom are paid respect in cinematic homages within – Mauro uses his indie directorial debut as a platform. However, whereas blabbermouths Tarantino and Smith are far enough along in their career to exercise a silence-is-golden motif, Mauro is still learning. He is yelling through a bullhorn that he has a statement to announce but the noise is too scattershot to fully invest attention.

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Another Day in America is set in a post-Covid office where a diverse set of characters deal with a host of relevant issues. The generational divide, race, misogyny, and gun violence all come to play - and all in a single day. Not only is this a lot, it is also too much. For what is labeled as a dark comedy, Another Day in America is tonally inconsistent with its messages: too absurd to be serious, and painfully unfunny.

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Candid sex talk is a staple in comedies. Used well, such dialogue can be full of glorious double entendre, fly with romantic interludes, and get down with raunchy truthfulness. The trick is to temper the crassness with a meaningful connection in either a character or situation. Base, lude sex talk for the sake of trying to be hip is representative of sloppy screenwriting. So much goes on here that you need a towel to clean up the mess.

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The anonymous office filled with sluggards and their unidentified tasks in Another Day in America supposedly, if grossly, symbolizes life in the 2020s. Tracy (Alexis Knapp) from Human Resources is the true office authority. She rules over a soft, young CEO with thinly-disguised blackmail, terminates an employee based on twelve-year-old tweets, and denies a promotion due to an unfortunate Halloween costume choice. The company has clients to keep happy and presentations to deliver. Yet all the workers spent their time complaining or bragging or Tic-Tok-ing.

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Ritchie Coster plays an older manager who cannot abide his younger, slacker workforce, particularly Erin (Daphne Blunt) who he openly calls a “slut.” Others, such as Joey Oglesby, Preston Flagg, and Marina Varano blatantly and publicly discuss sexual conquests and desires in x-rated detail. They flaunt, moan, and text. During this rampant explosion of meaningless candor, no one realizes that one super-disgruntled employee is planning serious violence.

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Through it all, none of the dialogue rings true, whether playing straight or for laughs. The brazen talk is neither funny nor uncomfortable. Rather, it sits oddly. There are no winks nor nods nor comedic beats. Mauro tries to show the ridiculousness of it all. But fails. Mauro never takes advantage of capitalizing on the comedy. He instead pummels the viewer with penis jokes that remain, well, soft.

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Only a few of the characters are relatable. The love-lost Scott (Oliver Trevena), and angry Sam (wonderfully played by TV vet  Sam Ackerman), and vindictive Tracy from HR are set archetypes unfortunately engulfed by the forgettable cliches around them.

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Another moment that hits true is the one quiet scene where three friends share a table for lunch and remain glued to their phones. Free time for Gen Z-ers.

The irony of the situation is not lost. While the staff freewheels, Tracy, facing her own personal disgrace, picks and chooses the issues that she knows will result in a victory while ignoring the swathe in front of her.

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Mauro ends his movie on a note of violent defeat. Yet that shock comes across as a last minute addition; almost as something that Mauro truly wanted to discuss but forgot until the wrap party. Gun violence is a serious topic indeed - but perhaps one that should be tackled outside of an Instagram post.