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Review by Harvey Karten
3½ stars out of 4
Comedy shows people worse than they really are and tragedy
shows us better than we are. While comedy is difficult (ask
anyone who's had to perform before a silent audience at Caroline's
Comedy Corner), serious roles require depth. We don't wonder
that actors known as comedians want to break out, to diversify, to
show their many dimensions. Robin Williams did so beautifully in
"One Hour Photo" while Steve Martin turned in a dandy
performance in "The Spanish Prisoner." But Adam Sandler?
Could America's favorite movie clown, an expert at pratfalls and
"duh" expressions actually show a greater depth if he restrained
himself and stopped performing strictly for the MTV crowd? While
he'll probably never do "Othello" or "Macbeth," he goes half-way
toward seriousness in a performance of unusual breadth. What is
so unusual about his role in Paul Thomas Anderson's "Punch-
Drunk Love" is that many in the audience could actually identify
with him. (What fan of his could truly relate his own life to that of
the waterboy?) By contrast, Paul Thomas Anderson, who
knocked out perhaps the most serious, heaviest movie of 1999
with "Magnolia"-- a mosaic of misery with characters including a
dying man, an angelic male nurse, and concepts like anger, guilt,
isolation, the sins of fathers and a rainstorm of frogs on a biblical
level must have decided to take a vacation, to see how he could
handle the light touch.
Sandler inhabits the role of Barry Egan, who has recently
started a business in toilet plungers, having invented one with an
unbreakable handle. He employs a handful of people who
probably talk behind his back about what a loser their boss is, but
Lance (Luis Guzman) would never show his disdain when in his
employer's presence. Barry may be a loser but is the sort of loser
that some women would like to take home, possibly to mother,
maybe even to love. He's not threatening to them, he's obviously
not a womanizes, he's safe to be with, and he's kinda cute. He
doesn't know how to act around women, perhaps because his
seven sisters abuse him mercilessly, calling him gay boy while at
the same time one of them tries to fix him up with a cutie who
works with her, Lena Leonard (Emily Watson).
During the course of the movie, Barry gets into deep doggie-doo
after giving his credit card, phone number, address and social
security i.d. to a crooked phone-sex operation, one that employs
four gangsters led by the over-the-top Dean Trumbell (Philip
Seymour Hoffman) to embezzle and otherwise separate Barry
from his hard-earned cash. The whole yarn was motivated by the
story of a real-life person who beat the system by investing just
$3000 in Health Choice pudding which enabled him to parlay
enough coupons to get him 1.5 million frequent flyer miles.
Among Mr. Anderson's quirky scenes are a huge stack of the
pudding lined up in Barry's warehouse; a surreal introduction with
such fire power that nothing else matches it throughout the film;
the bold use of color and especially a to-die-for sound track that
complements the action including "Waikiki," "Moana Chimes,"
and especially Harry Nilsson's "He Needs Me" which best
describes the feeling that Lena, the shy and adorable British
woman, feels about her new lover.
What do women want? According to this, they do not want an
overly confident man who will lead them around, who knows how
to put his elbow on a bar and how to tip the maitre-d' without
seeming obvious. They want a klutzy fella, one who will not take
liberties with them on the first date or even after meeting them in
Hawaii for Barry merely extends his hand to shake that of Lena
when they approach each other in Oahu, leading to the signature
kiss.
There's little question that the New York Film Festival chose
this to be one of its only three American choices partly because it
highlights Mr. Sandler in a far more restrained comic role than he
has ever attempted before, perhaps even more because of
Anderson's artsy, but not pretentious, style. There are long
takes, as when Barry and Lena simply face each other and when
Barry faces off, nose to nose, with his archenemy, the crooked
Dean Trumbull. Some of the fun requires audience attention
because the action often takes part in the background, as when
Lance tests a couple of unbreakable toilet plungers while Barry is
in the office tending to phone calls. Photographer Robert Elswit's
use of bright colors is not unlike that of Todd Haynes in his
striking new film, "Far from Heaven," a glorification of the 1950's
studio-lot melodramas that starred the likes of Lana Turner, Agnes
Moorehead and Fred MacMurray.
As in the more conventional romantic comedies, Anderson
keeps the lovers apart for most of the story, separated not by
Lena's hesitation but by Barry's refusal to believe that anyone
could fall for him. The violence is unlike anything you'd expect
from a character played by Sandler, but at the same time, when
he trashes the bathroom in a restaurant and slams his fist
repeatedly into the wall of his office and in one case curses
himself under his breath over and over, we understand that he is
filled with self-loathing for being such a loser.
I'd not go so far as to say that Sandler's usual public hungers to
see him in a role like this. "Punch-Drunk Love," with its long
tracking shots, its occasional stoppage of forward motion, its
surreal imagery, will not go over big with the MTV-ers but mature,
intelligent film buffs will eat it up. Or enough of them will.
Copyright © 2002 Harvey Karten
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