Sometimes it takes the most talented of people to make some of the worst movies ever made. John McTerrnan, the action wizard who made Die Hard and Thomas Crown Affair, made Rollerball. Danny Boyle, the man behind Trainspotting, also made The Beach. Barry Sonnifeld Men In Black and then Wild Wild West. Even Kubrick's last film, Eyes Wide Shut, was about as laughably bad as last year's Tim Burton helmed Planet of the Apes. And so on.
So maybe it should come as no surprise that Paul Thomas Anderson, the creative mastermind who made the controversial films Boogie Nights and Magnolia, has created his first real bomb. Punch Drunk Love, featuring Adam Sandler and Emily Watson (Red Dragon), is bad. But not bad in a Rollerball, hair-pulling incompetent sort of way.
This film was not rushed, nor was it taken over by the studio, nor was it under-financed or given inadequate shooting time. Every "t" was crossed on this one. It is undoubtedly the film that Anderson wanted to make. The question is, why.
Why is a piano dumped off at Sandler's feet with no explanation? Why do random watercolors flash on the screen? Why do talented actors like Luiz Guzman and Phillip Seymour Hoffman show up in roles of no depth of consequence? Why is everything shot in such a drab tone, the movie becomes oppressively dull? Again, I know that all of this, somewhere, must have a reason. The piano symbolizes something. The colors also probably mean something. As does Hoffman's one memorable line, "Shut, shut, shut, shut, shut, SHUT, UP." I'm sure it all means something, somewhere.
The story: Sandler plays Barry Egan, a man who apparently owns a toilet plunger business. He also has seven overbearing sisters (who we can never really tell apart), and his large but blunt family has resulted in severe social problems. He is purely incapable of dealing with people, and this is demonstrated non-verbally by Sandler very well. In fact, it is far and away the best performance I have seen him give. I wish I could say that I enjoyed watching him give it.
The only co-worker we recognize as more than a random extra is Lance (Luis Guizman). However, he doesn't say much or do much more than look at Barry quizzically, and so much for that part of the story. The second part deals with his improbable romance with Lena (Emily Watson) a woman who also looks at Barry quizzically but grows to love him anyway. Watson does a good job at being likeable and believable, but Anderson's script doesn't give her much more detail, and in the end we don't really know who she is.
In fact, everything smacks of under-development, which is odd considering the director's last effort was Magnolia. By most accounts, the movie was awfully long, weird, and had one character too many. But it was also filled with life and detail, and each character was fully sketched and performed beautifully. The third and weakest part of the story really suffers in this area, as Barry gets involved with a blackmailing sex-talk-line business that tries to extort money from him. Huh? Yeah, it didn't make much sense at the time either, but on it went. Most of the movie kept going, with no real reason. It is only ninety minutes long, but feels much longer.
Only Sandler's character feels like an organic creation, and even then our sympathy for him does not automatically equal identification. This is a man who smiles as people insult him then breaks windows and entire restrooms in bursts of pent-up rage. He is interesting, but not the stuff that romantic heroes are made of. We want him to find love, but we also want him to get help.
Ultimately, the film is sometimes unpleasant, mostly boring and manages the feat of being both undercooked and overlong at 90 minutes. There are sparks of inspiration, yes. When Barry does a small dance of joy in a supermarket, when he first steps off the plane in Hawaii (don't ask) and when he first kisses Lena, we see the heart of the story peak through. We see what Anderson probably saw when he first wrote it, the story of a guy who was never gonna fall in love but fell in love anyway. But Anderson then felt compelled to load up his story with so much baggage, so much random artistic weight that it never takes off.
Look, I'm sure many critics will see this and nod their heads, muttering "genius!" I was a loyal defender of Magnolia, frogs and all, and I was really excited to see this film. And I tell you that, hat over my heart, I did not like it. If you like bizarre for the sake of the bizarre, and symbolism so convoluted that you need Cliffs Notes to understand it, go buy a ticket. If you want to see a film with more than one good character, strong visuals, a fascinating story, darkly hilarious moments and overall good performances, go see Red Dragon. Or rent Boogie Nights again.
I still want to see Anderson's next film. He is a born filmmaker, up there with contemporaries Wes Anderson and Kevin Smith. But any masters can still screw up, and a born filmmaker can sometimes forget how to make a film. A.I., anyone?
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