Four stars. Rated R, for profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 7.7.17
Stand-up comics have a
significant advantage, when it comes to autobiographical projects; they’ve
fine-tuned such material during years of comedy club appearances.
The results can be terrific, as
demonstrated by (for example) Nia Vardalos’ My
Big Fat Greek Wedding and Billy Crystal’s 700 Sundays.
The Big Sick is a similarly delightful
experience: by turns sweet, funny and poignant, with a gently instructive
cross-cultural moral that we desperately need these days.
The film stars Pakistani-American
actor/comedian Kumail Nanjiani, perhaps best recognized from his starring role
on HBO’s Silicon Valley. He co-wrote The Big Sick with his wife, Emily V.
Gordon; the film depicts their real-life courtship, which started when, as a
grad student, she attended one of his stand-up appearances at a Chicago comedy
club.
The relationship gets off to a
shaky start. Although Kumail (playing himself) and Emily (Zoe Kazan) enjoy each
other’s company, neither is looking for a relationship. She’s focused on
finishing a master’s degree in couples and family counseling, in order to begin
a career as a therapist; he’s enduring the grueling, grinding ordeal of trying
to hone a stand-up set in front of frequently unforgiving audiences.
Then there’s the other issue.
She’s a modern American white gal; he belongs to a conservative Muslim family,
with parents — Azmat (Anupam Kher) and Sharmeen (Zenobia Shroff) — who expect
him to enter into a traditional Pakistani arranged marriage. Like they did, and
like his older brother Naveed (Adeel Akhtar) did, with his wife Fatima (Shenaz
Treasury).
Kumail faithfully has dinner once
a week with his family: chaotic affairs with (in his own words) “five different
conversations going on, people talking over each other, and everyone’s very
loud.” Which wouldn’t be so bad, except that Kumail’s mother always sets a
sixth place at the table, in case an eligible young Pakistani woman “happens”
to drop in. Which one always does.
Bearing a photo and résumé. Which
Kumail dutifully takes back to his apartment, once dinner concludes, and tosses
into a cigar box laden with similar profiles.
So yes, there’s a strong echo of Greek Wedding, albeit from a Pakistani
perspective. But there’s also a significant difference, because Kumail can’t
work up the courage to tell his parents about Emily (whereas she has shared
everything about him with her folks). He’s paralyzed by anecdotes about adult
children and other relations banished from their families, for similar
“transgressions.”
Unfortunately, Kumail also
doesn’t share his lack of candor with Emily: a nagging secret that eats at him,
as their didn’t-want-a-relationship blossoms into a genuine love affair.
This can only end badly ... but
Kumail can’t imagine how badly.
Neither can we. About which, I’ll
say no more.
Nanjiani gives his performance an
endearing, puppy-dog quality that makes him sympathetic, despite his casual
relationship with honesty. Kumail is a work in progress, much like the material
he’s struggling to refine into a sharp, 5-minute act. He’s quick with a quip,
and we recognize the jokey, arm’s-length superficiality with which he handles his
parents. (We’ve all been there.)
At the same time, Kumail is
keenly aware of his own failings: of helplessly digging these emotional holes
deeper. At times, Nanjiani uncorks painful displays of silent chagrin; his
disappointment is palpable.
Kazan’s Emily is perky, enticing
and slightly mysterious, with a mischievous gaze that makes her irresistible.
She has a quick smile that can melt just as rapidly into confusion, annoyance
or outright anger. Emily is once burned, twice shy; Kazan gives her a protective
shell that the young woman clearly wishes to shed on Kumail’s behalf, but she
can’t quite decide if he’s worth it.
Emily is defined by this
uncertainty: a characteristic that Kazan presents with conviction.
This film is an affectionate and
shrewdly insightful tribute to families, friends and lovers, written and
presented with an unerring eye and ear for the little intimacies that bond
people, and the unexpected outbursts that can kill a happy mood in the blink of
an eye. It’s not merely a matter of Nanjiani and Gordon understanding
themselves, and their intimates; they also know how to depict these events in a
way that’s entertaining and often hilarious.
Not to mention culturally
illuminating. Although Kumail’s family dinners are choreographed for the broad
humor that characterizes the disconnect with his parents’ conservative values,
they’re never held up for ridicule. Indeed, there’s a regal grace to Shroff’s
portrayal of Sharmeen, particularly when she proudly introduces each “surprise”
guest to her embarrassed — but amiably tolerant — son.
The problem, of course, is that
each of these hopeful young women arrives with her own expectations, and we
eventually recognize the unspoken cruelty of Kumail’s constant rejections, no
matter how politely handled. Nor do Nanjiani and Gordon shy from this
implication; this is one of many instances when their script shows its teeth.
This story — and Nanjiani himself
— aren’t afraid to acknowledge that, at this stage of his life, Kumail is
deeply flawed. Failure to act, to take a stand, can be just as unkind as overt
hostility.
Kumail connects far better his
other “family”: the friends similarly trying to build careers in stand-up, each
struggling to be noticed by comedy festival talent scouts. These hopefuls
include CJ (Bo Burnham), Mary (Aidy Bryant) and Chris (Kurt Braunohler), the
latter also sharing Kumail’s apartment. The bond between these four feels
strong, and with good reason; they’re friends in real life, with the
split-second timing developed from their own stand-up careers.
Burnham and Bryant are
self-assured, with the bravado that comes from a certainty that they will —
eventually, but absolutely — make it. Braunohler draws the short straw: Chris
has neither the God-given talent nor the necessary fire ... but he doesn’t yet
perceive this.
The backstage riffing that takes
place between this quartet is fast, furious and funny; it’s also sharply
perceptive. They know each other better than most friends, good comedic
material invariably being built from the baring of one’s soul. They can be
their own harshest critics, with no hard feelings; they also can offer solace
during moments of crisis, as when Kumail needs help figuring out what to do
about his messed-up off-stage life.
We don’t meet Emily’s parents until
the second act, and they add a tempestuous emotional tornado to the already
fraught dynamic. Holly Hunter plays Beth as a pint-sized spitfire with a
don’t-mess-with-me-or-mine ferocity: a mother tiger who memorably unsheathes
her claws during a hilarious encounter at one of Kumail’s club performances.
But Beth isn’t solely fire and
brimstone; Hunter laces her with effervescent wit and shrewd judgment, often
conveying considerable emotional depth with a turn of the head and narrowing of
her eyes. She’s a consummate actress with an astonishing gift for disappearing
into her performances; in this case, she simply becomes Emily’s mother.
Although Ray Romano is a hoot as
Emily’s father, Terry, he’s less successful at creating a fresh character.
Romano can’t help being himself, and Terry doesn’t feel that different from the
“self” that he played on TV’s Everybody
Loves Raymond and Parenthood.
Which is not to say that he’s unsatisfying as Terry; Romano credibly handles
the wild emotional swings prompted by this tempestuous saga.
More crucially, the film handles
the relationship between Kumail and Emily’s parents — an initially prickly
distance that blossoms into mutual respect and affection — with endearing
sensitivity. Indeed, although the bond between Kumail and Emily is the heart of
this film, the developing intimacy between Kumail, Beth and Terry is equally
touching.
Director Michael Showalter
impressed us a few years back, with his consummate handling of Hello, My Name Is Doris, another sharply
insightful dramedy that drew finely tuned performances from its stars (and for
which Sally Field should have earned an Academy Award nomination). Showalter
does the same here, eliciting fine — and, in a few cases, exemplary — work from
his varied ensemble cast.
A lot of captivating and
dramatically diverse dynamics are juggled throughout this film — Kumail and
Emily, Kumail and his family, Kumail and his stand-up buddies — and Showalter
crafts each with grace, humor and warmth. The result is a charming romantic saga
— with one of the sharpest final lines I’ve heard in awhile — that’s destined
to win a treasured spot in home libraries.
(Despite having one of the worst titles ever. I mean, seriously? They couldn’t come up with
something better? It doesn’t even roll off the tongue. “What are you seeing
tonight?” “The Big Sick.” “Say what?” Sheesh!)
2 comments:
Love your reviews. You had this one spot on....but what WAS the final line?
Thanks for the kind words. But please ... I'd never spoil everybody else's fun, by revealing the final line. :-)
Post a Comment