I saw “St. Vincent” three times in the course of profiling Bill Murray for this magazine, and noticed that no matter where Murray went, his fans cheered with the kind of adoration usually reserved for royalty. (He wore a crown in public, which probably helped.) But despite “St. Vincent’s” status as a crowd-pleaser, it would be a mistake to underestimate Murray’s talents as a dramatist. In Ted Mefli’s feature debut, Murray takes a familiar trope—the Jack Nicholson grump from “As Good As It Gets”—and makes the character feel like a fresh invention. Then the third act of this comedy take a serious twist, and Murray never hits a false note.