One star. Rated R, for sexuality and relentless profanity
By Derrick Bang
Some films are so relentlessly
unpleasant, that it’s impossible to imagine what the folks involved were
thinking.
Take Wilson. (Please.)
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| Determined to compensate for 17 years of absent fatherhood, Wilson (Woody Harrelson) takes ex-wife Pippi (Laura Dern, right) and their adopted-out daughter Claire (Isabella Amara) to a kiddyland play-park. Interesting choice. |
Is it supposed to be
enlightening? Instructive? Philosophical? Emblematic of the human condition? A
statement of where we are, at this point in time?
Director Craig Johnson and
scripter Daniel Clowes must’ve had something
high-falutin’ in mind, because the result certainly isn’t anything as basic as
entertaining. Or amusing. Or witty, poignant, endearing or any of scores of
other experiences we anticipate, when plonking down hard-earned cash for a
night at the movies.
Ironically, I suspect that
Johnson and Clowes genuinely believe that what they’ve wrought is a little bit
of all those things.
Hardly. In baseball terms, Wilson is a whiffout. It’s clumsy,
tedious and deadly-dull boring, with generous dollops of misanthropy, casual
cruelty and contrived so-called tragedy. It is also interminable.
Honestly, I thought it’d never
end. Entire generations were born, matured and died, during the time it took to
endure this sad excuse for a movie.
Building a storyline around a
thoroughly obnoxious curmudgeon is a delicate and precise art: On some level,
we’ve gotta love the guy, or at least be amused by his antics. It’s not just a
matter of screenplay finesse; the actor in question must be endearing, in spite
of himself. Think Billy Bob Thornton, in Bad
Santa; or Bill Murray, in St. Vincent.
We forgive their mean-spirited behavior, because they’re so darn ... well ... irresistible.
Woody Harrelson’s Wilson is
resistible. He’s boorish, confrontational, obnoxious, profane and spiteful, and
never in a good way. He’s a neurotic loner with a deeply rooted loathing of
civilized society, and a malicious craving to ruin everybody else’s day. He’s
the sort of guy who, upon boarding a bus with only one other passenger, will
sit right next to that innocent victim, just to annoy her.
And then, when said individual
politely requests some space, Wilson reacts in high dudgeon, unable to believe the degree to which he has just
been offended.
Five minutes with this guy, and
we’re desperately scanning for the theater exits.
