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December 25-31, 2008
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Carreyd away
by Michael Phillips
The pursuit of sappyness
by Michael Phillips
 Carreyd away
by Michael Phillips
Director Peyton Reed is used to working in italics. His Down With Love (2003) was an entirely italicized movie, reworking the plot mechanics and arch visual strategies of the Doris Day/Rock Hudson sex comedies of the late 1950s and early ’60s, along with Broadway-to-Hollywood adaptations such as Sunday in New York (1963). It turned out more like a cinematic term paper than a movie, but Reed’s willingness to go all the way — further than Doris Day ever did, at least before the ring and the fade-out — marked him as a director to watch.
In Yes Man he’s working with the human italic button known as Jim Carrey, who shot to movie fame as Ace Ventura and The Mask, characters straight from the cartoon world or the world according to Frank Tashlin’s live-action comedies. These days (Carrey turns 47 next month) the star isn’t going for insanely broad comedy. When he lands the right script, as he did with Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Carrey finds real and touching ways to channel all that energy into a performance, as opposed to a performance.
Yes Man starts out wobbly but ends up quite nicely, primarily because Carrey has a wonderful acting partner in Zooey Deschanel, the singer-actress with the saucer eyes and unpredictable, behind-the-beat comic timing. Carrey by nature is a coiled spring; Deschanel’s a spring that’s already sproiiiinged. If she ever co-stars in a movie with Kat Dennings of Nick & Nora’s Infinite Playlist, the world will immediately enter a permanent Zenlike state of calm.
Carrey plays Carl Allen, an L.A. loan officer at a drab bank, stuck with a goon of a superior (Rhys Darby, very funny). Carl can’t get out of his surly, self-pitying rut, three long years after his breakup. For the first 20 minutes of Yes Man, which was loosely based on Scottish comedian Danny Wallace’s book, you think you’re in for it. Carrey forces the laughs, and the character’s an uninteresting, sour fellow. Then comes Terence Stamp, in his first genuinely funny screen appearance, as a self-help guru who challenges his followers to say “yes” to every single thing that comes their way. Carl tries it, and before long he meets Allison (Deschanel), a bohemian L.A. polyglot who’s in a band called Munchausen By Proxy, and who teaches classes in “jogging photography,” i.e., taking photos while jogging.
In its tale of an emotional shut-in who learns to embrace life, get a pilot’s license and speak Korean, Yes Man recalls some previous Carrey vehicles, notably Liar Liar. The tone of Yes Man isn’t predominantly manic, however, and may throw some die-hard Carrey fans expecting the old shtick in high gear.
We don’t like our movie stars to change on us, and yet they must, if they’re to grow as actors. What I enjoyed most here was the interplay between two utterly different leads. Director Reed can’t resolve the tensions in a spotty script by Nicholas Stoller, Jarrad Paul and Andrew Mogel, which feels like a compromise between two (or more) separate drafts, one leaning in the direction of farce, the other romance. But Carrey and Deschanel are pretty amazing to watch together onscreen. And that makes Yes Man movie enough for me.
—MCT
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 The pursuit of sappyness
by Michael Phillips
Seven Pounds has a heart as big as all outdoors. Unfortunately, it’s made out of high-fructose bull. Will Smith is a first-rate actor and a first-rate movie star. He’s not the problem, although if a major player green-lights a more grandiose and specious screenplay about redemption any time this century, it’ll be a miracle.
Two years ago, Smith and director Gabriele Muccino fashioned an improbable global success out of The Pursuit of Happyness, thanks also to screenwriter Steve Conrad. While that fact-based film had its share of dubious romanticism, you bought it; the emotional payoffs worked; Smith’s performance kept the whole thing honest.
This time Smith and Muccino are dealing with an elaborate scenario straight out of Cloud Cuckoo-land. Smith’s character, an Internal Revenue Service agent named Ben, has committed a terrible deed. We are not shown the particulars until the end. At the outset we see a man whose soul is clearly in torment — cruel, bullying, anguished. He appears to be investigating a carefully selected group of people’s cases. Woody Harrelson plays a blind pianist. Barry Pepper plays Ben’s estranged friend. Elpidia Carrillo’s Connie is trapped in an abusive relationship. Michael Ealy portrays Ben’s brother, who early on mentions that reclusive Ben, living out at the fabulous family beach house, has borrowed something from him that he needs back.
The key supporting role is that of a seriously ill heart patient played by Rosario Dawson, whom the camera hearts very much. Without blowing the secrets of Seven Pounds, it soon becomes clear Ben is out to redeem himself and help this collection of strangers, Dawson’s character among them. Then Ben realizes he too hearts this woman. And so they must have discreet golden-hued sex.
Even with Smith in there, slugging, every scene, Ben remains a device of superhuman (or superstar) empathy. Seven Pounds is all about extending a hand and breaking out of your shell, as is Yes Man. But in practical terms it boils down to Smith and Dawson having picnics in impossibly pretty fields of flowers while cinematographer Philippe Le Sourd and composer Angelo Milli pour it on. This redemption racket looks mighty appealing!
And yet it isn’t. Will Seven Pounds affect some people? I’m sure it will. For others, watching this all-too-literal heart-tugger will make them long for a simpler, truer story about second chances and making amends. The film is likely to be the sternest test to date of Smith’s box-office prowess. If he puts this one over, he can do anything.
—MCT
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