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“Gag” might be a better title for this indigestible adaptation of Chuck Palahniuk’s pseudo-hip, puerile novel by first-timer Clark Gregg. Poor Sam Rockwell gets stuck in the year’s most unpalatable role as Victor, whose character consists of a checklist of half-baked tics and contrivances: he’s a sex addict; he works as a Colonial re-enactor; his best friend collects rocks and masturbates; and to pay for mom’s medical expenses, Victor scams strangers by pretending to choke in restaurants. Dotty old women, idiots in powder wigs, a fat guy beating off, and disgorged chunks of food — they aren’t as funny as you might think. Flashbacks to Victor’s childhood as he’s dragged cross-country by mom evoke unfortunate comparisons to The Heart Is Deceitful Above All Things and to Anjelica Huston’s far better role in The Grifters. By the time Gregg gets to the foreskin of Jesus, one appreciates what David Fincher made of Fight Club; Choke is hard to swallow. 92 minutes | Boston Common + Fenway + Kendall Square + Embassy + Suburbs
