Rolled into a joint made with the kief leftover from a dozen different movies, American Ultra is a natural underachiever. An early action scene, in which our protagonist average Joe brutally dispatches of two government goons through unconscious reflex, is a familiar one. So too are many of the events that follow, like when a military liaison explains to his CIA superior (Topher Grace, delightful) why their hit on a former asset has gone pear-shaped. “How is he still alive?” yells Grace’s pissy and psychotic company man. “Well, sir,” replies the Army brass, “he had a spoon.”

Deadpan statements shine like whites beneath the wide, spectral black light of American Ultra’s influences. It’s a paranoid pothead thriller (The Bourne Indica) that’s been hybridized with a sweetly simple relationship comedy. It’s also a violent action vehicle, a dopey stoner romp, and a Looney Tunes vision of surveillance state overreach.