By the opening scene it's clear Joachim Trier's Reprise (in theaters today) will be a cliché-riddled romp through exhausted subject matter. And by the closing scene, most will be left wondering just why, despite the many obstacles, it is so enjoyable.

Trier, a popular short-film director, has set the familiar story line of young writers in friendly, unspoken competition for fame and glory in his native Norway. The two would-be authors, best friends Phillip (Anderson Danielson Lie) and Erik (Espen Klouman-Hoiner), are fixated with leading the literary life, and, as bright, hopeful young things, carry with them wild fantasies of sipping espressos in Parisian cafés as oversexed success stories. Of course, as the template to this story dictates, only one can find that success (and the several neuroses that accompany it)—the other must wallow in his best friend's shadow and the confirmed suspicions that his abilities are less than spectacular. Tiring, right? Thank God, everyone's handsome. And not only handsome. Actually good.

Lie is excellent in conveying Phillip's crippling psychosis and his character's rich, stilted dialogue—and audiences are left sharing his insanity. As Trier explained to Radar at a screening, Lie's background as a doctor (an actor-doctor!) enabled him to understand the subtle nuances of a diseased mind, and his intimate connection with patients allowed him to treat the character with care. The second character, Erik, after his novel is eventually published, experiences his own mini-crisis when he is exposed as inarticulate as the clinically insane Philip ... on national television.

But it's not always Doomsday in Oslo. The film's instrumental punk score veers toward the lighthearted and it points to the kids' carefree past and their hunt for eternal youth. The movie's crowning achievement, and a hilariously recurring plot point, is the fictitious band Kommune's song "Finger Fucked by the Prime Minister." Don't be fooled, this song isn't just about securing hand jobs from the leader of the Norwegian Parliament. As Trier tells Radar, it's an ironic "homage to politicized punk."

Above all, though, is the film's superb editing and direction. A constant, hushed narrator lends heft to the story line by veering in and out of past, present, and future, opening things up to creative, thoughtful splicing. Not since Quantam Leap has this effortless shift between past, present, and future created such rich characters and a suspenseful plot. Reprise shares bits of the Wes Anderson and Judd Apatow model of juvenile banter, but it's better in its darkness. It stands on its own as a fantastic film you might want to save for a night when you crave a good existential crisis.