_Abigail Leslie Is Back in Town_ rolls into town wearing bell bottoms, a cloud of cigarette smoke, and the confidence of someone who knows every bar stool by name. This movie doesn’t knock. It kicks the door open, borrows your lighter, and reminds your parents why they stopped talking about the 70s. Is it classy? No. Is it subtle? Also no. This thing lives on sweaty close ups, awkward pauses, and the kind of dialogue that sounds like it was written on a cocktail napkin at 2 a.m. But that’s the charm. It knows exactly what it is: a sleazy little time capsule that smirks at you the whole way through.