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It’s hard not to feel a strange sense of kinship with each of the hapless heroines played by Anna Faris. Though she’s generally underrated, her signature blend of anything-for-a-laugh slapstick and absurdism makes her an adorkable standout in every project. While she has been praised for some of her work (The House Bunny, Scary Movie), her portrayal of an empty-headed LA stoner in Gregg Araki’s 2007 comedy Smiley Face remains an unsung triumph.

Landing three years after Araki’s dark, critically acclaimed drama Mysterious Skin, Smiley Face was a left turn: a stoner comedy following the mishaps of perpetually buzzed, often unemployed economics student-turned-actor, Jane.

After unwittingly consuming an entire plate of weed-laced cupcakes made by her terrifying roommate Steve (an unfortunate appearance by Danny Masterson), Jane stumbles into an astronomical state of high – and bravely embarks on a mission to attend an audition, pay an overdue power bill, repay her weed dealer and then rebake Steve’s cupcakes.

Or, as the movie puts it, attempt to get from “point A to point Z”. But of course she fumbles her way into failure at every turn – so spectacularly that one could even describe her feats of stupidity as herculean. It is marvellous.

Smiley Face was fairly well received on release but didn’t exactly reinvigorate cannabis cinema. But in 2026 this specific type of raunchy 00s dumbness feels magically nostalgic, especially after the ensuing decades’ waves of gritty seriousness. If anything, the unabashed silliness of Smiley Face has only gotten better with age.

In true Faris fashion, Jane is frustratingly endearing. She partakes in all the usual stoner tropes: eating too much food, having random spurts of erudite observations, and possessing a laissez-faire attitude to addiction. But she’s also the most manic of all the manic pixie dream girls of her time: simultaneously enchanting and unhinged.

As in most Araki productions, tragedy is never far from the surface. The film hints at an existential crisis bubbling within Jane’s psyche, from which weed might be a means of escape. She experiences bouts of depression, mentions dashed academic dreams and clearly lacks a support network; the only person she can rely on is a friend of Steve’s who is inexplicably infatuated with her (John Krasinski). This vague sadness makes Jane all the more likable, despite her glaring incompetence.

What makes Smiley Face unique compared with its (predominantly male) stoner siblings is that Jane is a solo (mis)adventurer. Cheech had Chong, Harold had Kumar, and even Seth Rogen teamed up with James Franco and Danny McBride for Pineapple Express – but Jane doesn’t have a pothead pal to help her along, and everyone around her is sober as a judge.

Perhaps more importantly, Jane’s cannabis caper isn’t the whimsical romp of your typical stoner comedy – it’s downright terrifying. Noises are far too loud, social cues are missed, paranoia is at an all-time high, and a trip to the dentist is akin to being trapped in a sensory nightmare. Finally, a stoner comedy for the girls who get overstimulated at the supermarket!

Two decades after its release, Smiley Face is yet to achieve the cult classic label it deserves, remaining mostly confined to the niche corners of stoner cinema. But Faris did end up winning High Times magazine’s “Stonnette of the Year” for her role; a marker of success from the audience who have appreciated Smiley Face for the gem it truly is.

  • Smiley Face is available to stream in Australia on 7plus and in the US on Prime Video and Tubi. For more recommendations of what to stream in Australia, click here