This eponymous adaptation of a Chuck Palahniuk novel goes through the right motions, but loses track of its charm somewhere in the translation. The filmmakers probably loathe any comparisons to Fight Club, Palahniuk's most famous property, but with a similarly sarcastic tone, grim protagonist and writhing, unpredictable plot, it's difficult not to tie the two together in some meaningful ways. Choke barely holds a candle to its daunting big brother, sadly; it captures none of the character or idealism that made Tyler Durden's darker hues so palatable, and the dialog - though witty in a few spots - is largely lacking in conviction and flavor. Sam Rockwell's turn as Victor, a sex-addicted scam artist in the midst of a midlife crisis, is uncharacteristically dull and bland. It's tough to root for, or even identify with, such a despicable character, even as his journey reveals the details of why he is this way. The storyline, explained via a series of monologues so single-minded Kevin Smith might blush, branches off in so many directions, it's often difficult to determine what's the primary message and what's just window dressing. Over-ambitious at best, it's a mess of competing distractions with few resolutions and a cast of shuffling, murmuring archetypes. A disappointment.

The novel may give rise to this curious film.

Apart from the surface-level similarities with Fight Club regarding the diegetic style, character archetypes and intentionally jarring cutaways, the two films are very different in themes. Fight Club was idealistic and ideological, while Choke is introspective and grounded to reality. Notable was the decently accurate portrayal of sex addiction and its consequences.