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With no CGI or big-name stars to suck you in, indie movies often have to fall back on the virtues of a decent script and a well-chosen soundtrack. Matthew Bissonnette's low-key comedy drama, Passenger Side, rides into town trailing some rather dubious "poster quotes" in its wake. I'm talking about the so-called reviewer who claims "No, it's not like Sideways; it's a lot better in fact".

See what he did there? The bracketing of this movie with Alexander Payne's 2004 comedy, suggests that Passenger Side is nothing short of a modern classic. After all, Sideways picked up the Oscar for best adapted screenplay, which even allowing for the stupidity of the Academy's voters still means something. But in my opinion, this likable story of a couple of LA slackers on the road to nowhere, isn't in the same league as any of writer/director Payne's best work.

Matthew Bissonnette's third full-length film stars his brother Joel as Tobey, the ex-junkie brother of failed novelist and world-class cynic Michael (played by Adam Scott). The movie begins with Michael in his Echo Park bachelor pad, trying to dodge a call from Joel, who needs a ride somewhere. Reluctantly he agrees to take his younger sibling to some job interviews, but the real purpose of their day-long car trip turns out to be a case of "cherchez la femme". Joel is desperate to locate Theresa (Robin Tunney), supposedly the love of his life, but the trail involves many diversions and misadventures.

Shot on HD video in just 14 days, Passenger Side also has a pleasingly retro feel about it. There's Mike's car, a 1975 BMW that remains a defiantly iPod-free zone. Mike has invested in a brand new cassette deck but has no cell phone — there will be no texting and definitely no "sexting" here. Instead, this movie features the rare sight of a character getting out of his car to use a public pay phone. What's most old-fashioned, of course, is the reliance on dialogue to drive what little plot there is. If you imagine that two guys driving round LA County promises pedal-to-the-metal scenes and frenetic action, think again.

As in Sideways and the more recent Easier with Practice, it's the wildly differing attitudes of the protagonists that create dramatic interest. In short, it helps if one guy is a loner and a misanthrope and the other more of a "glass half full" type. Mike, whose stock in trade is words, rarely says anything that isn't laced with several layers of sarcasm. Tobey, though he's obviously led a rather dissolute life, claims to be at a turning point now that he's joined the Scientologists. But as the brothers try to reconnect over their shared history, writer Bissonnette's message seems to be that it's Mike who needs to wake up to his failings.

The bulk of Passenger Side's 85-minute running time is taken up with the kind of bizarre incidents that you expect to see in road-trip comedies. Perhaps the critic who compared this with the work of Judd Apatow was referring to Mike's close encounter with a transsexual prostitute; a stop-off at an adult movie set; or the bleeding Mexican who's chopped off a couple of digits. Bissonnette stops short of giving these incidents the full gross-out treatment because there's a genuine humanity about his characters. Earlier in the film, the brothers bicker over the significance of "different strokes for different folks", but when Tobey criticises Mike for living in LA and not knowing any Spanish, his point is well made.

Although Passenger Side is smartly scripted and both leads convincingly inhabit their characters, it all feels a little aimless. The mystery element concerning Michael's fruitless phone calls to a (possible) girlfriend is kept largely in the background until the film's rather rushed conclusion. When we do finally get to meet Tobey's beloved Theresa, she only has one underwritten scene in which to explain her actions.

Matthew Bissonnette obviously laboured long and hard over honing his dialogue, choosing the locations and selecting music from the likes of Leonard Cohen, Wilco and Silver Jews. But the lack of structure in his story robs it of any real emotional impact and the non-stop sarcasm becomes a little wearing by the end. If Miles from Sideways were comparing this movie to a wine, I'm afraid it would be a Merlot rather than the much-prized Pinot Noir.

"What are you wearing?" A late-night call to his motel room brings writer Davy Mitchell (Brian Geraghty) an unexpected introduction to the mysterious "Nicole" (Kathryn Aselton), who likes to seduce guys over the phone. Before long, Davy's dull book tour of New Mexico has been transformed into an onanistic odyssey that shocks even his brother Sean.

I shudder to think about the prurient comedy that could have resulted from this set-up if Judd Apatow or the American Pie team had got their sticky fingers on it. Fortunately, Davy Rothbart's GQ article "What Are You Wearing?", has been adapted by writer/director Kyle Patrick Alvarez into a low-key but surprisingly affecting drama about loneliness and the yawning gap between romantic expectations and real life.

The opening credits feature a montage of images from the covers of those dime store romantic novels that feature big-shouldered heroes ravishing big-breasted ladies with huge red lips. It turns out that Davy keeps one of these books in the car that he and brother Sean (Kel O'Neill) have been sharing during their extended road trip. A brief reading from this torrid romance suggests that Sean has a rather more earthy approach to relations with the opposite sex than his elder brother does.

The film begins in a bookshop with the earnest, bespectacled Davy giving a reading from his collection of short stories, Things People Do To Each Other. When the brothers check into yet another nondescript motel in Albuquerque, Sean goes out to buy cigarettes and Davy settles in for an evening of channel surfing. Moments later the phone rings and Nicole enters his room. Of course she's not actually in the room -- it just feels like it to the audience and especially the flustered Davy. At first he thinks it's a mistake or Sean playing a prank. After all, why would an alluring young woman be calling him out of the blue? In the 10-minute scene that ensues the camera doesn't move from the figure of Davy sitting on his bed cradling the receiver. Soon she's telling him what she's wearing (nothing as it turns out) and encouraging him to lose his inhibitions and engage in the kind of explicit chat that you normally find on premium rate numbers.

It's early in the story so we don't know much about Davy, but the way this conversation plays out is more psychologically than sexually revealing. Alvarez isn't interested in showing us his awkward fumblings. From his expressions and rather stilted responses we gather that 28-year-old Davy doesn't have much imagination or confidence when it comes to dealing with the opposite sex.

This riveting sequence is pretty much guaranteed to leave audiences shaken, stirred and full of questions about who Nicole is and whether this movie is going to have a nasty sting in the tail. After all, in the horror and thriller genres, getting dragged into a phone conversation with a stranger tends not to be a recipe for long life and happiness. Think of Drew Barrymore's quiz ordeal in Scream or Colin Farrell's Phone Booth nightmare and you'll get my point.

The first half of Easier with Practice plays out like a road movie, as the brothers move through a succession of bookshops, motels, cafés and bars. There's a comic feel to Davy's attempts to conceal his ongoing relationship from his sceptical brother, who reminds him "She could be an obese middle-aged woman with a thousand cats." But overall what Alvarez really captures is a feeling of romantic yearning on Davy's part, as he tries to get Nicole to open up about herself: "Can't we talk a little bit?" he pleads during one of their late-night chats.

Having opened his hero up to the possibility of intimacy, Alvarez brings him back down to earth as the book tour ends. Back home in his poky bachelor apartment festooned with Post-It notes, Davy is just another loser with an unfulfilling temp job. Except now he believes that in Nicole he's found someone who really gets him and that they might eventually meet up.

Socially awkward and sexually gauche men provide great material for comedy -- especially when they fall into the embrace of rapacious women. But this film doesn't take that approach, though there are some painfully funny moments during Davy's conversations with Nicole. Geraghty's skill lies in making Davy sympathetic and believable as he blunders through a meeting with the attractive Samantha (Marguerite Moreau), with whom he's had some kind of failed tryst. As with the young student who tried to chat him up in a bar during the trip, we see a man who wears his reticence like a badge of honour. He's disapproving of the way his brother casually cheats on his girlfriend, though you sense there might be some envy, too.

As Davy struggles to reconcile the reality of his relations with women with the fantasy that is Nicole, the film moves towards a climax that is in keeping with what's gone before, but doesn't neatly resolve the hero's problems. To say any more about the plot might spoil what is an emotionally resonant and well-acted drama.

Brian Geraghty, whose geeky look here is reminiscent of the young Harrison Ford, was previously in The Hurt Locker and Jarhead. This is a role that takes him and the audience on an emotional journey, though in many scenes he's alone -- just staring into the abyss. It's a great performance and one that is beautifully framed by Alvarez and cinematographer David Morrison, who have woven an air of romance around banal locations like parking lots, laundromats and motel rooms.

Easier with Practice is an impressive debut from Alvarez that deserves to find an appreciative audience. I just hope that its thoughtful approach to issues of sexual identity and isolation won't go over the heads of film fans weaned on a diet of stoner dude comedies about idiots with overactive libidos.

Sally Bowles, the glittering, swaggering, sexually adventurous nightclub chanteuse at the centre of Cabaret is one of the most memorable figures in 70s cinema. Liza Minnelli, who played her in Bob Fosse's critically acclaimed 1972 musical, won an Oscar in the part that seemed tailor-made for her — from the black bowler hat to those kinky boots.

It may be hard to believe now, but in the mid-50s, Julie Harris was Sally Bowles. She played her on stage in John Van Druten's play I Am a Camera — winning a Tony award — and reprised the role in Henry Cornelius's 1955 film. Both works were based on Christopher Isherwood's The Berlin Stories, but their portrayals of Berlin in the early 30s could scarcely be more different. To appreciate Harris's take on Sally you really have to banish memories of the Kit Kat Club, Joel Grey's louche MC and those fabulous songs.

"The more worthless the book the more they need noise and alcohol to launch it." Middle-aged writer Christopher Isherwood (Laurence Harvey) begins this semi-autobiographical tale of his youthful adventures in pre-Second World War Germany with the discovery that sex sells. The irrepressible Sally Bowles has turned author, with the provocatively entitled The Lady Goes on Hoping. Some things never change.

After this Bloomsbury-set opening sequence, I Am a Camera flashes back to Berlin on New Year's Eve 1931. Isherwood, narrates the story of his life as a struggling author, living in a boarding house run by the long-suffering Fräulein Schneider. So far, it seems that his one moment of inspiration has been to come up with that title: "I am a camera, with its shutter open, just watching it, quite detached." Isherwood's professional detachment is tested when he accompanies his friend Fritz (Anton Diffring) to a club, where Sally is performing. In what we soon learn is a familiar pattern, she is soon left high a dry by her latest beau. Feeling sorry for this "naive" girl, our hero gallantly offers her a room for the night, though the platonic terms of their relationship are made clear from the outset.

It's not long before the totally out-of-his depth novelist realises that his new friend's modus operandi is to shock people. Asked why she wears green nail polish, Sally cheerfully explains "To attract men!" As their life together descends into penury and bickering, he alternates between fascination at Sally's lack of morals and self-pity at his inability to make progress with his work.

Harvey went on to play the social-climbing Joe Lampton in Room at the Top and the brainwashed assassin Raymond Shaw in The Manchurian Candidate. I find him more convincing as an embittered cynic than as a suave leading man, so he's well-suited to the role of the permanently exasperated Isherwood. When his one clumsy attempt to seduce Sally is repelled, his sardonic response is to ask "A puritan all of a sudden, or just where I'm concerned?" With her throaty laugh, theatrical mannerisms and fine comedic timing, Harris's Sally is an enthralling and infuriating companion. In the film's most enjoyable sequences, she drags the hard-up Isherwood into a bar, where she downs a succession of champagne cocktails. The arrival of filthy rich American Clive (Ron Randell) leads to a wild party — complete with a hydro-therapist played by Patrick McGoohan.

Of course the sexual dynamics would have looked very different if this film hadn't been made in the mid-50s. There's no hint here that the writer might be gay, or even bisexual – as Michael York's Brian is in Cabaret. Instead, the would-be novelist is just celibate, waspish and openly disapproving of Sally's promiscuity. In the film of Isherwood's later novel, A Single Man, George (Colin Firth) and his best friend Charley (Julianne Moore) have once been on intimate terms, but she reluctantly has to accept his homosexuality.

John Collier's screenplay is at its sharpest and most assured in the scenes of domestic cut and thrust between the flat-mates. But attempts to bring the social and political unrest of pre-war Berlin into the mix are less successful. Though Berlin was on the cusp of seismic events you get little sense here of the growing unease on the streets, while the nightclub scenes are more dreary than decadent. There is an awkward romantic subplot involving Fritz and the wealthy Natalia (a miscast Shelley Winters) that tries to address the dilemma facing Jewish citizens. Isherwood makes a belated attempt to reclaim his independence by brawling with some Nazis in the street, and rebukes Fräulein Schneider for an anti-Semitic remark.

Cornelius, who directed only five films, had to work within the censorship restrictions of the time. This movie may have been an X-certificate in its day, but the Sally of 1955 doesn't get to be as wanton — or show as much leg — as the Sally of Cabaret. As a portrait of the artist as a young man, I Am a Camera is funny and charming and the two leads have good chemistry. But if you want to know why money still makes the world go round, the Kit Kat Club is the place to go.