Love, all kinds — new, unexpected, failed, glorious, strangled and exalted — is what John Cariani describes in “Almost, Maine,” an icy, star-fired and imaginary place whose residents are as close to the northern lights as they are to the the local pub, the Moose Paddy.
In eight vignettes, we encounter 19 characters wandering into, and sometimes out of, the mysteries of romance on a single freezing Friday night in the fictional and “unorganized territory” of Almost, Maine, a community of 300 or so souls near nothing at all at the top of Maine.
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