2.5 stars. Rated R, for sexual candor, vulgarity and relentless profanity
By Derrick Bang
A modest holiday-themed comedy
lurks in the bowels of this wildly uneven movie, but it doesn’t escape very
often.
As has become typical of far too
much of today’s “lighter” fare, this flick’s infrequent delights — the story
credited to Jonah Hill, John Hamburg and Ian Helfer — are buried beneath an avalanche
of profanity and vulgarity.
But that’s clearly a generation
gap in the classic sense, very much like the behavioral impasse that separates
the characters played here by Bryan Cranston and James Franco. The juvenile, foul-mouthed
conduct that prompts long-suffering sighs from many (likely older) viewers, is
embraced gleefully by the intended target audience (likely millennials).
And so it goes.
In fairness, director John
Hamburg draws quite a few genuine laughs throughout his film, thanks mostly to
Cranston’s masterful comic timing. He handles long-suffering and put-upon with
hilarious panache, as he demonstrated during his numerous seasons on
television’s Malcolm in the Middle
(before becoming a “serious actor” in big-screen projects).
Why Him? is a comic homecoming for Cranston, and he
maximizes the project’s potential. Not since Father of the Bride’s Steve Martin — or Spencer Tracy, depending on
one’s preference — has a Dad become so flummoxed over his daughter’s transition
to full independence.
Granted, poor Ned Fleming
(Cranston) has a lot more to process.
A web-cam 55th birthday greeting
from daughter Stephanie (Zoey Deutch) — completing college courses in
California, far from her Michigan home town — is marred by the revelation that
she has a guy in her life: the hitherto undisclosed Laird Mayhew (Franco), who
bursts into Stephanie’s apartment and proceeds to strip.
Laird’s spontaneous disrobing
notwithstanding, the presence of a boyfriend isn’t a shock per se; after all, Stephanie is a responsible, self-sufficient 22
years old. But the fact that Ned and wife Barb (Megan Mullally) haven’t heard about this fellow is a bit distressing,
particularly since Ned has long enjoyed a mutually close relationship with his
only daughter.
Wanting to make up for this
gaffe, Stephanie invites her family to Palo Alto for the impending Christmas
weekend, so that everybody — which includes her 15-year-old brother Scotty
(Griffin Gluck) — can “get acquainted.” This seems a reasonable olive branch,
until Ned, Barb and Scotty actually meet
Laird.
He turns out to be an
über-wealthy sybarite whose financial success with an incredibly popular
computer game has allowed him to indulge every capricious whim. His palatial
estate is festooned with bizarre, politicized and conspicuously erotic artwork;
the grounds are home to a private menagerie as varied as anything that might
have been found at the Playboy Mansion, during its heyday.
The huge home also is filled with
people: programmers, eager-beaver interns, and student-age beta-testers camped
out in front of monitors. Some of them might live in; Laird honestly isn’t
certain. A foofy nouvelle cuisine chef (Richard Blais, in droll stunt-casting)
prepares weird dishes that nobody in his right mind would eat; appetizers and
craft cocktails are likely to be spot-seared by hand-held butane torches.
The commentary here is hilarious
... assuming that it is an indictment
of conspicuous consumption and absurdly rarefied tastes. (Consider Danish chef
Rene Redzepi’s recently announced $600-per-person “pop-up” dinners, scheduled
for April and May in Mexico. Redzepi, it should be mentioned, frequently
experiments with gustatory delights such as butterfly and wasp larvae.)
But Ned and his family have
little time to marvel at these outlandish surroundings, because Laird himself
is so much larger than life. Irrepressibly foul-mouthed, socially inept,
unaware of “comfort zones,” prone to nudity and spontaneous excess, he couldn’t
possibly make a worse first impression. (Or second. Or third. Or 75th.)
As Stephanie eventually explains,
Laird has a kind heart — and he truly does — but simply lacks filters. His
upbringing was far less than optimal, and the sudden infusion of wealth, at a
comparatively young age, removed all barriers.
Franco doesn’t so much play this
part as hurl himself into it, with the subtlety of a sumo wrestler. Strip the
F-bombs from Laird’s dialogue, despite his motor-mouthed nature, and Franco
wouldn’t have been left with anything to say. Even so, his giddy, good-natured
antics have a certain peculiar charm. At times. In small doses.
But nothing about Hamburg’s
approach is “small.” The writer/director responsible for Zoolander, Meet the Fockers
and I Love You, Man isn’t one for
subtlety, and this new film suffers from a level of self-indulgent excess that
Laird would readily recognize. If one of Laird’s “message” artworks is a dead
moose suspended in a huge tank of its own urine, you can bet that the script
will find a reason for that tank to rupture.
Such a delightful moment. (Not.)
Which is a shame, because other
bits are undeniably funny. Laird runs a “paperless household,” and Ned’s first
encounter with a computer-controlled toilet is a stitch, in great part due to
Cranston’s display of pained and embarrassed expressions. Barb gets her own
turn with that, ah, facility a bit later in the story, under slightly different
circumstances; Mullally uncorks an equally droll slow take.
Keegan-Michael Key has a lot of
fun with his role as Gustav, Laird’s constant companion and sorta-kinda minder,
who tries hard to restrain his boss’ wilder impulses. Gustav also keeps Laird
physically toned by surprising him with sudden stealth attacks: a ritual that
immediately reminds Ned of Inspector Clouseau and Cato — points to the
scripters, for acknowledging the reference — and then becomes funnier when, to
Ned’s dismay, Laird and Gustav insist they’re unfamiliar with The Pink Panther movies.
There’s also a droll running bit
concerning Justine (voiced by Kaley Cuoco, of TV’s The Big Bang Theory), the smart home’s omnipresent “virtual
concierge” that oversees everybody’s activity, much to Ned’s suspicious unease.
In other ways, though, the script
is just sloppy. Ned runs an old-style printing business back in Michigan, with
a workforce staff that includes the shamefully under-utilized Cedric the
Entertainer. The business is failing with the decline of print advertising, and
unlikely to survive long enough for Scotty to inherit the mantle, but — aside
from brief lip service — the scripters squander this opportunity for economic
commentary. (And the eventual “solution” to Ned’s plight ducks the issue
entirely.)
In anticipation of Ned’s arrival,
Laird added a two-lane bowling alley to his home; we witness its use just once,
when Ned — by himself — demonstrates a few wicked curves. But this serves no
purpose; the bowling alley’s presence is both bewildering and superfluous.
On the other hand, there is a
great payoff to Ned’s occasionally stated fondness for the 1970s glam-rock band
KISS.
Deutch shines as the lone voice
of calm and reason. Stephanie is a breath of fresh air, and — unlikely as it
sounds — Deutch persuasively sells the young woman’s ever-patient efforts to
micro-manage both her father and her boyfriend.
Gluck, on the other hand, is
little more than an eye-rolling distraction. The young actor can’t be blamed;
the writers stuck Scotty with all the worst lines, and the most infantile
behavior (next to Franco).
Adam Devine and Andrew Rannells,
both familiar faces, pop up briefly during an out-of-control party. (That must’ve been a small paycheck!) So
does Elon Musk (!).
The jerky pacing and clumsy
antics notwithstanding, Hamburg manages a bit of aw-shucks sweetness as the
third act concludes. That’s a welcome touch, but it hardly compensates for the
uneven two hours that precede this climax.
I’ve often lamented the dearth of
good new holiday movies. This one
hasn’t changed my opinion.
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