MCN Blogs
Ray Pride

By Ray Pride Pride@moviecitynews.com

The Heartbreak Kid (2007, 1/2 *)

MM-mb-x350.jpgThe Heartbreak Kid, a remake of a memorably bracing Elaine May comedy, is directed by the Farrelly brothers, Peter and Bobby, whose biggest success was There’s Something About Mary (1999) with its pinched-testicle and semen hair gel jokes. The Jackass crew and Sacha Baron Cohen, among others, upped the gross-out ante since then, and extended what the MPAA allows in its R-rated movies. While the source material is respectable, the Farrellys do desperate things in hope of a career comeback after the sweet-tempered but low-grossing Stuck On You and Fever Pitch. The result isn’t outrageous, but almost insanely repellent.


Acting 40 with gray hair and dark circles under his eyes, Ben Stiller plays Eddie, a San Francisco sporting goods store owner whose 77-year-old father (Jerry Stiller) mocks him for not being a “pussy-crusher.” Eddie meets a Cameron Diaz-like blonde, Lila (Malin Akerman) at the wedding of his ex-girlfriend, where his henpecked best friend (Rob Corddry) mocks him mercilessly and they trade unfunny barbs in unlikely “Italian mouse” voices. As quick as you can say “the first of many, many scenes not written but assembled and scored to pop songs,” they marry and they’re driving to “Cabo” for their honeymoon. Akerman’s mannerisms as the increasingly insane woman are straight from the Diaz playbook, but within the cheer, more shiksaoid than shiksa. A sudden veer into dirty motel room sex is the first time you want to fall through the floor, or at least run to the candy counter to smell the hot dogs. “Helicopter me!”; “I’m not a big helicopter guy!”; “Jackhammer me! Cock me! Cock me!”; and “Fuck me like a black man, Eddie, come on!” The look on the face of America’s most consistently commercial leading man is confusion, not comedy when Lila calls from behind a closed bathroom door, “That’s good, ‘cos I just queefed big time!” The turgidly paced, two hour Heartbreak Kid reveals itself to be about a sexually inexperienced dullard who’s too stupid to discover that the blonde who giggled into his life is nothing less than batshit crazy. With Charles Grodin in Elaine May’s version (written by Neil Simon from a Bruce Jay Friedman short story), you empathize with his mortification and humanity; with Stiller, you feel mortified and in mortal danger of losing your own humanity. Michelle Monaghan, who was splendid in the underrated Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, is a glorious presence as the down-to-earth woman he meets and woos while on his honeymoon, and she’s the only one who comes away with a modicum of dignity intact. There is no sweetness outside her glow. This is a hateful movie. There are two especially repellent scenes in the Farrelly Heartbreak, one involving an exaggeratedly hairy pubic mound on a woman as she prepares to urinate on a man’s back in public in front of dozens of onlookers. (The exploding cartoon muff resembles the dry scruff along the tracks of a scale model railroad set.) The other features a burro with a grandiose erection. “That was actually a female donkey with a strap-on penis,” Bobby Farrelly tells the Times of London. “It took two weeks to train her, but the very first take that she gave us made us laugh our heads off. So it was worth it in the end.” There’s really no reason to talk about misogyny in the case of this disastrous, ill-starred, filthy, hateful movie. There are broad racist caricatures involving Mexicans and jus’ folks from Mississippi, but misanthropy is the depressing sum. An inexplicably extended montage shows Eddie as part of a crowd of Mexicans attempting to cross the board across the open U. S. border, and their roustings go on long enough to be accompanied by two songs. We’re a long way from the desert scenes in Fast Food Nation and Babel. There’s a fine closing line, which reeks of an existential dilemma this lying, unfunny, unattractive, serial adulterer could never experience. Matthew F. Leonetti’s camerawork is grimy and sub-par, with a palette of grain that would not be out of place in a Hostel sequel. There’s a cornucopia of product placement, and the corporations that cleared their products for display include co-star Patagonia, Corona, Lay’s Classic, Ruffles, Nike, Tylenol, Aquafina, Cuervo Especial, eVite, Tivo, Motorola Razrs, Corona, Subway sandwiches, Ruby Tuesdays and Patron.

Be Sociable, Share!

Comments are closed.

Movie City Indie

Quote Unquotesee all »

It shows how out of it I was in trying to be in it, acknowledging that I was out of it to myself, and then thinking, “Okay, how do I stop being out of it? Well, I get some legitimate illogical narrative ideas” — some novel, you know?

So I decided on three writers that I might be able to option their material and get some producer, or myself as producer, and then get some writer to do a screenplay on it, and maybe make a movie.

And so the three projects were “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep,” “Naked Lunch” and a collection of Bukowski. Which, in 1975, forget it — I mean, that was nuts. Hollywood would not touch any of that, but I was looking for something commercial, and I thought that all of these things were coming.

There would be no Blade Runner if there was no Ray Bradbury. I couldn’t find Philip K. Dick. His agent didn’t even know where he was. And so I gave up.

I was walking down the street and I ran into Bradbury — he directed a play that I was going to do as an actor, so we know each other, but he yelled “hi” — and I’d forgot who he was.

So at my girlfriend Barbara Hershey’s urging — I was with her at that moment — she said, “Talk to him! That guy really wants to talk to you,” and I said “No, fuck him,” and keep walking.

But then I did, and then I realized who it was, and I thought, “Wait, he’s in that realm, maybe he knows Philip K. Dick.” I said, “You know a guy named—” “Yeah, sure — you want his phone number?”

My friend paid my rent for a year while I wrote, because it turned out we couldn’t get a writer. My friends kept on me about, well, if you can’t get a writer, then you write.”
~ Hampton Fancher

“That was the most disappointing thing to me in how this thing was played. Is that I’m on the phone with you now, after all that’s been said, and the fundamental distinction between what James is dealing with in these other cases is not actually brought to the fore. The fundamental difference is that James Franco didn’t seek to use his position to have sex with anyone. There’s not a case of that. He wasn’t using his position or status to try to solicit a sexual favor from anyone. If he had — if that were what the accusation involved — the show would not have gone on. We would have folded up shop and we would have not completed the show. Because then it would have been the same as Harvey Weinstein, or Les Moonves, or any of these cases that are fundamental to this new paradigm. Did you not notice that? Why did you not notice that? Is that not something notable to say, journalistically? Because nobody could find the voice to say it. I’m not just being rhetorical. Why is it that you and the other critics, none of you could find the voice to say, “You know, it’s not this, it’s that”? Because — let me go on and speak further to this. If you go back to the L.A. Times piece, that’s what it lacked. That’s what they were not able to deliver. The one example in the five that involved an issue of a sexual act was between James and a woman he was dating, who he was not working with. There was no professional dynamic in any capacity.

~ David Simon