Nearly half the movies showing at the Sundance Film Festival this year are first films, many of them made by twentysomethings, so it’s hardly surprising that rites of passage is a recurring theme here. As the old writers’ mantra has it: write what you know.

Documentaries like American Soldier (an ambivalent portrait of a US army recruiter), American Teen (which follows four kids through senior year in a mid-Western high school) and, most astringently, Bigger Stronger Faster (a film about steroid use subtitled: “The Side Effects of Being American”, and the best thing I’ve seen here so far) suggest that the American Dream remains a potent national obsession, and that young people feel under intense pressure to make it a reality.

Sean McGinley’s second feature, The Great Buck Howard begins by pinning its heart on its sleeve, albeit in a zippily edited fashion: Troy (played by Colin Hanks) explains how he betrayed his father’s keenest hopes by dropping out of law school and moving to Los Angeles to become a writer (just like McGinley did).

With rent to pay and precious little on the page, Troy lucks into a job as a personal assistant to psychic Buck Howard (John Malkovich), whose billing was bestowed on him by Johnny Carson 40 years ago, and who has clung to it ever since.

This career departure doesn’t impress Troy’s dad (a cameo by Hanks's father, Tom), but in the small town theatres that are now his domain The Great Buck Howard still insists on carrying himself like a star, and Troy slips easily into the role of all-purpose flunky. (“Toss my salad,” is one of his boss’s more imperious commands.)

We’ve seen the type before: the ageing “sacred monster” with pretensions and demands far in advance of his current status – in “The Dresser” and “My Favourite Year”, for instance. Still, for a showboat like Malkovich this is a gift of a part. Swathed in pastel suits, pink ties and matching socks, Buck makes a point of baring his upper teeth when he smiles (many years ago he must have practiced this in the mirror); he pumps your hand as if anticipation of a jackpot – or an oil strike. His set consists of corny catchphrases (“Isn’t that wild?”; “I love this town”), hypnosis and card tricks, with a sentimental interlude at the piano, a tribute to his former dear friend, George “Sulu” Takei.

While Malkovich ladles on the cheese to entertaining effect, Hanks Jr is a genial vacuum looking on from the wings, trying to figure just how his boss pulls off his signature stunt: at the end of each show he asks the audience to hide his fee somewhere in the auditorium, while he retires to the dressing room. He never fails to find the money.

See, Buck Howard may not be great anymore, but he’s still blessed with enough showbiz magic to keep that dream alive in the heart of a young writer.

McGinley’s affectionate comedy is too starry-eyed to ask any hard questions – we learn next to nothing about the “real” Buck Howard - but at least it recognizes that life goes on even after you’ve made it, lost it, and come back down the other side.

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