Contrary to what drug companies may hope, there's not a lot that's sexy about selling erectile dysfunction medications like Viagra.
Yet in "Love and Other Drugs," Jamie Randall (Jake Gyllenhaal) is a modern−day Don Juan who seduces women with his job as a slick pharmaceutical rep. Unfortunately, director Edward Zwick's second romantic comedy falls flat with a predictable storyline couple with a forced commentary about American health care policy and conniving pharmaceutical companies.
"Love and Other Drugs" unravels the sex−driven relationship between Jamie and Maggie (Anne Hathaway), a free spirit with stage−one Parkinson's disease, as the two predictably fall in love. Overwhelming Jamie and Maggie's narrative, though, is a macro−story about the questionable marketing schemes and corrupt tactics of pharmaceutical companies.
Zwick, known for war epics like "Blood Diamond" (2006) and "Legends of Fall" (1994), aims to address a parallel between medical drugs and the "drug" of love for Jamie and Maggie. Yet the product ends up lame, especially in its resemblance to "Sweet November" (2001).
Although the storyline is easily guessed from far off, Zwick does manage to elicit the rawness of his characters' emotions, feelings and actions. Throughout the film, Jamie's pharmaceutical career — chock−full of corporate brown−nosing and bribing doctors in order to sell certain drugs — comes off as very real. Jamie and Maggie's relationship is shaded with various convincing details, from the nuance in Maggie's tremors and Jamie's hyperventilating to the much−discussed nude scenes.
The movie's identity crisis lies in its juxtaposition of an eccentric but romantic relationship with its exploration of the realm of the morally dubious American pharmaceutical market. Jamie, for example, is continuously shown bribing Dr. Knight, played by Hank Azaria (LA '85), with alcoholic beverages and beautiful women in order to gain his business for drug sales, while he continues to sweetly fall in love with Maggie.
Zwick's deeper message regarding pharmaceuticals and health care in the United States seems to bemoan a loss of humanity in the medical world. The movie takes a pathetic jab at American health care policy as Maggie is shown transporting some elderly people to Canada for medication. While there, the female protagonist purchases drugs to ameliorate her condition as well, since she has no job or health insurance.
Zwick's message ultimately comes through on screen, but rampant subplots and secondary characters — such as Jamie's sex−obsessed brother and Maggie's ex−boyfriend, a pharmaceutical rep — detract from the film's seriousness and credibility as a social and political critique.
As a romantic comedy that attempts to retain a dramatic message, "Love and Other Drugs" is peppered with too much jocularity. The powerful moral regarding the pharmaceutical world is undermined by the film's humor.
The most memorable funny men in the film are Tufts graduates Oliver Platt (LA '83) and Azaria. Platt plays a Tums−addicted pharmaceutical sales director who introduces Gyllenhaal's character to the soulless world of drug marketing. Azaria portrays a narcissistic doctor who self−injects collagen in his buttocks to maintain his robust physique.
On the whole, the moral of "Love and Other Drugs" is a breath of fresh air as it seeks to explore a serious issue in the medical world while offering a real−life view on relationships. But the over−predictability of its screenplay and character development fails to serve the film's high aspirations.
The movie is a disappointment from Zwick, who, though talented, should stick to more action−heavy, war−focused stories. As such, "Love and Other Drugs" should be experienced not in a theater but at home with the comfort of personal control over its showing, with the fast−forward button available to be used gratuitously.
