Being from the northeast, rain is common, and there’s nothing significant or ominous about having multiple storms in a day. However, if you’ve ever heard Albert Hammond sing about it, then you know “It Never Rains in Southern California.” But, when it does, it can be taken as a bad omen. That’s exactly where we find David M. Parks’ latest film When It Rains in LA, a slasher thriller about a blustery day in Hollywood and a widow whose troubles have followed her overseas.

After her antique mask-buying husband (Eric Roberts) dies, Sasha (Monroe Cline) decides to fly away from her European trauma and spend time with old friends in Los Angeles. You may think this is a time for grieving and camaraderie, something to the effect of The Big Chill, perhaps? But, alas, after landing from what must be a thirteen-hour international flight, longer with stops, and amidst “bringing the rain with her,” Sasha and her friends decide a night of clubbing and drinking is in everyone’s best interest. Hey, you’re only young once, why not? Unfortunately, trouble is looking for Sasha, arriving in the form of killers adorning similar masks to the one her former husband bought moments before his death.

There’s a lot to discuss about When It Rains in LA, but unfortunately, not much of it is positive outside of some real chemistry between Monroe Cline and Thomas Gipson. Gipson is the romantic interest for the recently widowed Sasha, dashingly appearing in an almost serendipitous Hallmark Movie way as an awkward pilot trying to get her attention. Sasha attempts to shrug Gipson’s Harry off, but there’s enough playful energy to know we’ll likely see these two get together later, which is why it’s no shock that Sasha and her friends pull up to the same nightclub he suggests earlier in the film.

Sasha’s friends are another matter. While Natasha Stricklin, Taylor Brianna, and Paris Simone maintain a relatively amiable vibe, Felix Merback’s Mark that’s brings an uncouth amount of manic masculine energy to When it Rains in LA. There’s no subtlety to it. His zero to one hundred maneuver jarringly alerts the audience to the deficient character work plaguing the entire cast. The casting choices fill out their roles fine, but there’s nothing beyond the two-dimensional personas in the story. They’re all common slasher movie archetypes. Stricklin and Simone represent the Lesbian couple, with Simone’s Leese having an underdeveloped and never brought up again issue with fighting. Merback and Brianna are the straight couple, but with Mark’s frequent mood swings, I’ve got to figure Brianna’s on the verge of quitting men entirely.

Dipping into the story, When It Rains in LA is all over the place. I think there are some interesting bones stemming from a decent premise that, quite honestly, feels as if it could better lend itself to an interconnected plotline, ala Crash, or go the anthological route with multiple horror stories occurring on a rainy day in LA. But, in this solitary slasher flick, there are so many ridiculous moments the film plays like an unintentional parody. It even incorporates verbatim lines from Scream and Shaun of the Dead and further leans into the Edgar Wright film with a spirited nod to the record-throwing scene.

Furthermore, Parks’ film is a bit of a bloated endeavor. At barely eighty minutes, the movie makes better use of its cinematographer, Preston Weaver, who corrals a lot of B-roll between Roberts’ early demise in the film and Sasha’s America-bound flight. There are also plenty of transitional shots on the streets and above Los Angeles, which aren’t completely necessary but help redirect the atmosphere by alleviating the movie of its continuous mind-boggling limitations. Even with digital rain cascading over the tall buildings of downtown LA, it’s one less second I have to ponder the size of the glass shard the killer left on a toilet seat in the women’s bathroom, why two early victims were brought to a second location, or the confirmation that the filming location was an Airbnb because one of the psychopaths refrains from stabbing a door.

Here’s the thing: I love indie movies. I watch more independent films than star-studded tentpole films because I love a lot of the originality you find in scrappier, low-budget productions trying their best. But When It Rains in LA is just baffling, leaving loose threads and cringey details throughout. And there seems to be no wherewithal or concern to capture anything beyond the derivative and cliché premises of a TV movie of the week.

That said, When It Rains in LA does fall into that derisive group of entertainment that Neil Breen, Tommy Wiseau, or the Birdemic films fit into. Some will find enjoyment in the sheer silliness emanating from shots of the killer outside of the group’s LA rental before appearing in the nightclub with them, then wonder how they made it through the LA traffic quicker than an Uber driver coming from the same place all while in the rain when things seem to move slower on the highways, too. Hell, it may have been more audacious to film a murder scene in the middle of traffic on the 101.