Not enough movies tell the stories of the down-on-luck, kind of uncool wolf-pack that still goes out into town with their wallets on chains hanging from their pockets and try their luck with the ladies. Mike, heart-broken actor-comedian pines over his ex long after she’s been gone, while his guys – Trent, Rob and Sue – try to help him get back in the game in a series of nights club-hopping and wingman-ing. You find yourself empathizing with Mike almost immediately if you’ve ever had a broken heart and root for him throughout his highs and fairly embarrassing lows. Sprinkled with clever references and subtle, refreshing humor, Mike’s journey to find closure is more than likely to warm your heart.

As a bonus, the flawed yet endearing gang of twenty-something struggling actors will take you to that charming 90’s nightlife in Los Angeles (with music to die for, by the way) and remind you that boys will be boys and that they’re just doing their best helping each other and themselves to keep it together with lots of “You’re so money, and you don’t even know it!”.

The Sessions is drama about Mark O’Brien (John Hawkes), a quadriplegic who is forced to live in an iron lung due to complications from childhood Polio. A poet by trade, Mark longs to experience the touch of a woman, and despite his condition, to ultimately lose his virginity at the age of 38. After consultation with his parish priest (William H. Macy), Mark begins to see a professional sex surrogate (Helen Hunt), who slowly opens his mind and his body to the pleasures of sexuality. A very frank depiction of sex and sensuality, The Sessions is unflinching yet utterly tender storytelling. Hawkes and Hunt are both wonderfully real and honest in their performances. It’s the type of film that will surprise you by the ending at how much it has moved you.

Straight to the point and without any overly elaborate set-ups or personal anecdotes, Shane Gillis’ Beautiful Dogs is a sort of back-to-basics approach to stand-up comedy that proves surprisingly effective. Over the course of about 50 minutes, Gillis’ jokes move smoothly and freely—loose in structure but still clearly centering around very American notions of authority and masculinity (revolving around the military and U.S. history), which the comedian is quick to poke holes in. Gillis’ humor is definitely of the lowbrow variety though, and while this in itself isn’t a bad thing, a number of his jokes begin to repeat their point to no additional effect, usually relying on low-hanging fruit. Gillis skirts and occasionally dips into offensive territory, which he fully acknowledges. And while some of the stuff in this special is a little tasteless, at least Gillis is sheepishly honest about it.

To The Hottest Summer’s credit, it doesn’t shy away from its title; as an erotic romcom, it gives us more sexual content than you’d expect, while still keeping away from anything too explicit. There’s an undeniably exciting quality to how much the film is willing to show in its forbidden romance, and lead actors Nicole Damiani and Gianmarco Saurino have chemistry to spare. But while the film can be refreshing in how undaunted it is by the supposed taboo at the center of its story, its desire for simple, carnal thrills means the characters are much flatter than they probably deserve to be. Deacon Nicola’s complicated relationship to his faith is never quite explored until it’s too late, and Lucia’s friendship with Valentina (played by Alice Angelica) seems to be of little consequence, even as the story tries to create drama between their competing affections for the young priest-to-be.

Known for his comedy skits on Facebook, the comedian Kountry Wayne finally gets his own Netflix special to middling results. The character that he plays on the stand-up stage is meant to be highly irreverent, showing a callous disregard to everybody except himself. But while a more seasoned comic (which Wayne could become in good time) might find a way to build these predictable jokes into something truly novel or subversive, Wayne settles for shock value—often relying on exaggerated physical comedy to sell a flatly written punchline. But even this trick he relies on too often, which makes his already impressive stage presence seem cheaper than it should.

Shockingly little happens throughout A Young Time Ago’s nearly two-hour runtime, and the little that does happen is all so poorly thought-out. As we’re introduced to protagonist Tayo at a bar, a woman whom he doesn’t know insists on hearing his love story—which turns out to be a story about how supernatural forces seem to have orchestrated the rape of the woman he once loved in school, and how a singer who was last seen with her tries to wash his hands of any suspicion (even if he thinks that he actually might’ve raped her anyway). It’s an already tasteless and nonsensical plot that leads nowhere. Characters talk vaguely about who’s to blame and how they can evade the fallout of the crime, while the survivor never really gets a voice or an opportunity to reclaim her control over what’s happened to her.

The performances are awkward at best and totally inauthentic at worst, often leading to unintentionally hilarious line readings. And the overall technical package, while not necessarily bad, is just so flat and lifeless that it becomes impossible to track the film’s emotional trajectory. And while we should consider ourselves fortunate to be able to see films from countries like Nigeria, which don’t normally get a boost from mainstream streamers, we should always remember that a film this ill-conceived shouldn’t represent the local industry it comes from.