As aggressively arty as its title, "(Untitled)" is ostensibly about a romance between an avant-garde musician (Adam Goldberg, sporting his usual neanderthal scowl) and a trendy gallery owner (delicious Marley Shelton), but the script has more provocative questions in mind about art itself. Does it require technical skill? Can it be created or collected for profit? What ingredients are off-limits? Can music have no tempo or key? Can everyday objects make music? Aesthetic issues like this rarely come up in a romantic comedy, and the far-out musical pieces (mostly conceived by composer David Lang) are alternately fun and exasperating to behold. The film takes an interesting turn as it goes, initially presenting experimental works as something arcane and impressive (too much for the common man -- hmpf!) but gradually becoming more critical to imply a hollow charade between artist and patron. Zak Orth adds some sharp scenes as a flaky, nouveau-riche collector who buys art to make himself feel important, and Vinnie Jones plays a British conceptual artist who may be a cruel parody of Damien Hirst. Ptolemy Slocum is quite funny as a listless "visionary" who sticks Post-It notes on walls and calls them conceptual art, while Eion Bailey (currently seen on TV's "Once Upon a Time") is Goldberg's deluded painter brother, churning out interchangeable product that reaps unholy riches as doctor's-office fodder. The script is rather heavy-handed in making its points, but the setting is unusual enough to be oddly refreshing.

"(Untitled)" starts off as a predictable parody of contemporary art such as you'd see on an episode of "Seinfeld" or some other TV sitcom. An avant-garde musician repeatedly kicks a can and calls it art, for example. We've only seen this parody a million times. But through the course of the film, something surprising happens. Director and co-writer Jonathan Parker reveals himself actually to know about contemporary art. Imagine that: a film about art where the filmmaker actually knows something about art -- and not just about the biographies of artists. At last! In this sense, "(Untitled)" is a long-overdue, pioneering film. For this reason, I wanted so much to like it. Unfortunately though, Mr. Parker doesn't have much to say about art, artists, or gallery owners. Parker celebrates the avant-garde spirit of being ultra-conceptual and 100 years ahead of the ordinary bourgeoisie. He also pokes affectionate fun at certain excesses, such as the statuesque gallery owner whose clothes are such works of art that they make noise whenever she walks. Galleries are skewered to a degree for having a dishonest, almost predatory approach to artists. But that's pretty much the entire film. Not much more ultimately than you'd get in a "Seinfeld" episode -- and "Seinfeld" is more fun. Parker and co-writer Catherine DiNapoli know about art. But they don't know much about what makes for a compelling feature film.