I Feel Pretty: Sweet self-empowerment saga

I Feel Pretty (2018) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for fleeting nudity, sexual candor and profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.20.18

Here’s a nice surprise.

Few actors could rebound so successfully from a bomb the size of last year’s Snatched, but Amy Schumer has managed a reasonably graceful landing.

Believing that their chances of scoring online dates will increase if they tackle the problem
en masse, Vivian (Aidy Bryant, left), Jane (Busy Philipps) and Renee (Amy Schumer)
strike a pose for a group selfie.

I Feel Pretty blends (mostly) gentle romantic comedy with a well-delivered message on the importance of self-worth: of being not merely resigned to the hand one has been dealt, but celebrating it, each and every day. That’s a valuable lesson in an era when, everywhere we look, we’re encouraged to emulate — nay, become — akin to the media-splashed icons of physical perfection who surround us.

An impossible task. And one that can’t help feeding natural insecurities.

High fives, then, to Schumer and the writing/directing team of Abby Kohn and Marc Silverstein, for concocting such a (mostly) delightful rebuttal to such nonsense.

(The “mostly” applies because Schumer indulges in occasional bits of needless vulgarity that — in each case — briefly bring the film to a screeching halt. Apparently she can’t help herself.)

New Yorker Renee Bennett (Schumer) lives each day beneath a hovering cloud of low self-esteem and minimal expectations, convinced that she’s not “good enough” to share space with those who invariably seem to be something “better.” Such feelings are exacerbated by her job: toiling mostly unseen in a basement server room as one of two employees who handle Internet orders for cosmetic giant Lily LeClair’s upscale Fifth Avenue headquarters.

Renee shares this grimy garret with the misanthropic Mason (Adrian Martinez, an understated hoot), who — were he asked — probably prefers such surroundings.

Down time is spent with best buds Jane (Busy Philipps) and Vivian (Aidy Bryant); they collectively view themselves as three musketeers mounting frequent assaults on dating web sites ... never breaking past the outer ramparts.

And everywhere Renee goes — whether spin class at SoulCycle, or infrequent visits to Lily LeClair HQ — she’s all but invisible to the beautiful people who surround her. With one exception: Mallory (Emily Ratajkowski), who, despite being a flawless model like so many others, is a genuine human being with both heart and soul.

No surprise, then, that Renee — at a despairing low point — impulsively makes a big, tall wish (after seeing the similar moment while catching up with the movie Big).

The Big Sick: Just what the doctor ordered!

The Big Sick (2017) • View trailer 
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.

As their relationship blossoms, Kumail (Kumail Nanjiani) and Emily (Zoe Kazan) spend
more and more time together, even as both continue to insist — with diminishing
conviction — that this "isn't anything serious."

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.