From Life After Beth to Black Bear, Aubrey Plaza had gradually stripped herself of the deadpan zingers and callous indifference that factored into her early comedies. A fuzzy criminal record is all that stands between Emily (Plaza) and a job that’s more rewarding (and financially lucrative) than delivering trays of food, prepared by others, to catered affairs. Emily isn’t a criminal so much as she is a student. A co-worker hips her to a credit card scam that in no time positions Emily in a higher tax bracket (and the danger that comes with the profession). It’s here that faulty foreshadowing joins the fray. Emily is cautioned against shopping in the same store twice in one week as well as allowing clients into her home. Needless to say, both rules are broken long before the fadeout. (Please resist the impulse to yell at the screen while Emily watches helplessly as a pair of thugs ransack her apartment.) The one bit of professional advice Emily failed to catch wind of involves the perils inherent in fraternizing with the boss (Theo Rossi). It’s hard not to fall in love with Plaza’s face, but one wishes first-time writer-director John Patton Ford would have resisted the temptation to keep the camera so close that Emily practically fogs up the lens with each passing breath. (2022) — Scott Marks