The onetime Saturday Night Live laff-getter gives a concise, Razzie-commendable execution in Scott Smith’s Chasing the Blues, as a Loosiana lawyuh who has tracked down an exceptional blues record and offers to offer it to the man whose life it destroyed. A light satire whose assume the mind of over the top authorities is definitely less believable than that of, say, Ghost World or Sideways, the image extends its material pretty slender, however is genial enough when it’s anything but veering left into Coen-wannabe dark comedy.Grant Rosenmeyer plays Alan, who’s simply finishing a 20-year prison stretch for an offense we’ll find out about in due time. (Do the trick to say, he didn’t do it.) In his pre-convict life, he was a secondary teacher with a best in class record assortment — and the sort of carton delving nut who watched tribute in order to track down a deprived family willing to empty grandpa’s old shellac for pennies. Lovitz’s Lincoln Groome visits Alan during the last days of his sentence, promising he has the sacred goal in a just-opened capacity unit. So the principal thing Alan does when he’s liberated is board a transport from Illinois to Louisiana.

On that transport, he’s gotten to know by a dubiously amicable young lady named Vanessa (Chelsea Tavares), whose short cutoff pants and helpful guitar couldn’t in any way, shape or form be stunts intended to take in something from a long-abstinent music geek. The two initiate a highway discussion, and he educates her regarding the record that got him tossed in jail.Back in 1987, Alan tracked down an older widow (Anna Maria Horsford’s affably dotty Mrs. Walker) who unconsciously possessed a 78 rpm plate most gatherers thought was a fantasy: a chronicle by an anecdotal blues guitarist so spooky by blame that the phantom of the lady he killed sang reinforcement behind him. The individuals who paid attention to the melody’s test pressings were made distraught, even passed on, so it was never given monetarily. Since the time the 1930s, gullible blues nuts have looked for the world’s just existing duplicate.

Yet, Alan had an adversary: Paul (Ronald L. Conner), a dark record storekeeper who attempted to get under his skin by painting him as a white opportunist taking his local area’s social wealth. (There’s surely a film of material in that thought, however here it’s anything but a slight comic gadget.) Paul advances toward Mrs. Walker’s lounge similarly as Alan attempts to get her old records, and each man attempts to keep the other from going out with “Death, Where Is Thy Sting.”

We’re investing the majority of our energy in flashback as Alan recounts this story to Vanessa, and here’s the way you realize the lady is attempting to trick him: She doesn’t flicker an eye at the over the top thought that these two men ended up going through a few days and evenings in Mrs. Walker’s lounge, with their host shifting back and forth among rests and sweet-tea-production while they quarreled.

Watchers who share her eagerness may well get a kick out of the entertainers’ verbal killing and the secret of how this scene prompted where Alan is today. And surprisingly the individuals who discover the content’s creations ridiculous may consider it redirecting enough, for a third-hand story of over the top rivalry. The film’s caused for-TV look and to feel assist it with going, yet when Smith and co-essayist Kevin Guilfoile divulge their appalling designs for Mrs. Walker, its endeavors at dark satire ruin the energy.