Is This Thing On? — A captivating ensemble piece

Is This Thing On? (2025) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated R for sexual candor, drug use and frequent profanity

Available via: Amazon Prime and other VOD options

By Derrick Bang

Relationships, like laptops, sometimes need to hit Reset.

 

Director Bradley Cooper’s thoughtful, unhurried character study opens on a close-up of Alex Novak (Will Arnett), present solely in body, as a parent at a school activity being thoroughly enjoyed by a gaggle of kids that includes adolescent sons Felix (Blake Kane) and Jude (Calvin Knegten).

 

At one point, as their marriage unravels, Alex (Will Arnett) is surprised by the intensity
with which Tess (Laura Dern) angrily laments missing the happier, more
spontaneous person that he once was.

Alex scarcely pays attention, his head leaning against a wall, eyes staring into nonethingness, expression a blend of disinterest, resignation and helplessness.

He knows — as we soon learn — that this is the last such event he and wife Tess (Laura Dern) will attend as a couple. “This isn’t working,” they’ve mutually agreed ... “this” being the American dream of a home, two kids, two lovably large dogs (Charlie and Lucy) and a successful career (his days occupied by something “in finance”).

 

The unspoken middle-age crossroads finds them flailing.

 

Alex soon will move into an apartment, as a “trial separation,” but they haven’t told anybody yet: not their friends, not his parents, and certainly not their sons. This school event, followed by a regular game night with friends — Christine (Andra Day) and the aptly nicknamed Balls (Cooper); and Stephen (Sean Hayes) and Geoffrey (Scott Icenogle) — will be Alex and Tess’ final hurrah.

 

The group conversation is lively; Alex occasionally smiles and nods, but he clearly isn’t paying attention. He isn’t present in the moment. Cinematographer Matthew Libatique favors tight close-ups, which amplify Arnett’s vacuous, forlorn expression.

 

Balls — typically late to arrive, typically stoned — trips on a carpet coming in, dumping an entire carton of milk.

 

“Don’t cry over spilt milk,” Tess says (a line that’s a bit too on the nose). It becomes clear that her cheerfulness is a pose that occasionally evaporates, exposing ... something. Disappointment? Anger? Certainly not relief.

 

All this aside, during the next few days Alex and Tess are sensitive to their sons’ reactions and needs; both boys, in their feature acting debuts, deliver heartfelt and refreshingly natural performances under Cooper’s careful guidance.

Jay Kelly: A sublime character study

Jay Kelly (2025) • View trailer

Five stars (out of five). Rated R, for profanity

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.14.25

The opening Sylvia Plath quote says it all:

 

“It’s a hell of a responsibility to be yourself. It’s much easier to be somebody else, or nobody at all.”

 

Flanked by publicist Liz (Laura Dern, center left) and best friend/handler Ron (Adam
Sandler, center right), Jay Kelly (George Clooney) cheerful interrupts his morning to
sign autographs for adoring fans.

Jay Kelly (George Clooney) has it all: a long and successful film career; a devoted entourage, including best friend and handler Ron Sukenick (Adam Sandler); and the admiration and respect of fans, friends and professional colleagues.

 

He is one with Gary Cooper, Cary Grant and Robert De Niro: shapeshifters and chameleons of identity, with faces that represent something personal to millions.

 

But.

 

Jay’s nature, even when the cameras are off, remains a pose; he has no sense of self. His relationship with daughters Jessica (Riley Keough) and Daisy (Grace Edwards) is strained at best, estranged at worst. They’ve grown up seeing him repeatedly forsake them for the work: another movie, another months-long absence. Their mother and Jay’s other exes are distant memories.

 

He takes Ron for granted, failing to recognize the strain this keeps putting on his family.

 

Jay is selfish … and he’s so far gone, he’s incapable of recognizing this.

 

To be sure, he’s affable, suave and generous with the public; he’s also wheedling and persuasive, and knows how to get his way. After all, he has been doing it for decades. (This is George Clooney, after all; the man exudes charm and savoir faire the way the rest of us breathe.)

 

And yet …

 

Of late, Jay has begun to relive past choices: confronted by ghosts from his past, awakened to the shallowness of his present. And with this rising awareness comes a feeling he can’t quite identify:

 

Regret.

 

This plays out in director Noah Baumbach’s masterfully composed film, which enchants from its initial scene: cinematographer Linus Sandgren’s stunning, single-take tracking shot that follows the set-up and shooting of Jay’s final scene in his new movie, Eight Men from Now. Baumbach’s script, co-written with Emily Mortimer, is a masterful blend of drama, gentle humor, angst and character dynamics, brought to life by richly nuanced performances from Clooney and Sandler. Both are sure bets for Academy Award nominations.

 

(I understand the eyebrow lift. Adam Sandler, in a subtly shaded straight role? Hey, watch this film, then get back to me.)

Lonely Planet: Love is its own reward

Lonely Planet (2024) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated R, for profanity, sexual candor and fleeting nudity

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang

Romantic dramas come in a variety of flavors, and this one can be filed under Attractive People in a Swooningly Gorgeous Setting.

 

During a day trip to a colorful town bustling with activity, Katherine (Laura Dern) and
Owen (Liam Hemsworth) discover that they genuinely enjoy each other's company ...
which comes as a surprise to both.

Writer/director Susannah Grant knows the territory, having previously scripted and/or helmed modest charmers such as Ever After: A Cinderellal Story, In Her Shoes and Catch and Release.

Her notion here is that travel can be transformative: that journeying thousands of miles from the (perhaps stale) familiarity of home, can help people see themselves in a fresh light.

 

Celebrated author Katherine Loewe (Laura Dern) — stuck on her next book, in part because of relationship strife — abruptly decamps to an upscale literary retreat at a lavish estate in Marrakesh. (Given that she’s hoping for quiet solitude, I’d argue that being surrounded by half a dozen gregarious writers is an odd choice at best ... but we gotta roll with it.)

 

Convivial host Fatema Benzakour (Rachida Brakni) also has invited first-time New York-based author Lily Kemp (Diana Silvers), whose beach-read hit the best-seller lists and resulted in courtship offers from numerous publishers. She arrives with boyfriend Owen Brophy (Liam Hemsworth); he’s a high-rolling financial “fixer” who matches property-owning clients with corporations that wish to develop the land.

 

Although present to support Lily, Owen must take conference calls at odd hours of the day and night, due to the five-hour time difference. He and Lily obviously are a mismatched pair; the relationship likely worked while she was struggling to break through, but things are different now ... particularly because she quickly becomes intoxicated by the degree to which she’s fêted by Fatema and the other attendees.

 

Owen therefore feels increasingly isolated: an obvious outsider in a circle with which he’s wholly unfamiliar. Katherine can’t help noticing; she has a seasoned author’s eye for body language and emotional awkwardness. But she has her own battle to fight, and likely wouldn’t have given Owen much more thought ... until, entirely by accident, he winds up joining her on a bumpy road trip and a day of sightseeing in the Northern African hinterlands.

 

Because they’re both outsiders — at the retreat, and also amid this unfamiliar culture — they bond as casual friends.

 

The Son: Growing pains

The Son (2022) • View trailer

Three stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity, suicidal content and occasional profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 1.20.23 

Director/playwright Florian Zeller’s The Father (2020) is an emotionally harrowing experience, thanks both to Anthony Hopkins’ superbly nuanced, Oscar-winning performance, and a clever non-liner narrative that mirrors the title character’s tragic slide into dementia.

 

They look happy, but that's misleading; Peter (Hugh Jackman, right) and Kate (Laura
Dern) are beginning to realize that their teenage son Nicholas (Zen McGrath) has
some serious problems.

Zeller’s new film, alas, isn’t nearly as powerful.

For the most part, the actors can’t be faulted; Hugh Jackman, Laura Dern and Vanessa Kirby do solid work, and Hopkins is mesmerizing in a fleeting cameo.

 

Zen McGrath’s handling of this film’s title character is one weak link; he simply isn’t credible as a teenager struggling with mental illness.

 

But McGrath isn’t entirely to blame, because he hasn’t been granted sufficiently persuasive material. Scripter Christopher Hampton’s adaptation of Zeller’s stage play frequently feels contrived; the scenario and sequence of events lack credibility.

 

Peter Miller (Jackman), a high-profile Manhattan attorney with his eyes on a prize career shift to Washington, D.C., has been settling comfortably into life with new partner Beth (Kirby) and their infant son. The story begins with the unexpected arrival of his agitated ex-wife, Kate (Dern), and her revelation that their 17-year-old son, Nicholas (McGrath), hasn’t been to school for a month.

 

He has pretended to go, leaving her home each weekday morning with what she’d expect to see, in terms of books and other materials; and he has returned at the appropriate time each afternoon. But school officials finally exposed the charade, and Kate has no idea what Nicholas actually has been doing.

 

Nor does Nicholas offer any sort of defense. He simply insists that he “can’t stay” with his mother any longer, and would prefer to live with his father, Beth and his baby brother.

 

Beth isn’t thrilled; her expression makes this obvious. But she doesn’t object; she recognizes the importance of a father/son bond, and she clearly wants her relationship with Peter to succeed. Beth never states any of this in so many words, but it’s clear from Kirby’s delicate, quietly shaded performance.

 

(Although Kirby has been quite busy since, she remains well remembered as Princess Margaret, in television’s The Crown.)

Little Women: Hugely entertaining

Little Women (2019) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG, for no particular reason
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.20.19

Little Women has hit the big screen seven previous times, starting with silent versions in 1917 and ’18. Director Greta Gerwig’s new handling is by far the most sumptuously realized: a passionately heartfelt adaptation that honors author Louisa May Alcott as much as her celebrated 1868 novel.

At a time when "economic necessity" grants women little choice but to marry, the March
sisters — from left, Meg (Emma Watson), Amy (Florence Pugh), Jo (Saoirse Ronan)
and Beth (Eliza Scanlen) — yearn for more satisfying destinies. Can any such dreams
be realized?

Gerwig’s thoughtful script faithfully acknowledges all of the book’s major plot points, but not slavishly; she employs split timelines to heighten key revelations while adding a bit of suspense, and cheekily massages the conclusion to add a bit of Alcott’s own life to the semi-autobiographical finale that embraces her beloved March sisters.

That latter touch is audacious, given how deeply invested so many readers are, in these iconic characters — well over a century later! — but Gerwig pulls it off: as neat an act of eating her cake, and having it too, as has been seen on the big screen for quite awhile.

It’s also noteworthy that this saga feels family-next-door sincere, rather than the stuff of contrived melodrama. Credit goes to Gerwig’s finely tuned ear for authentic conversation and emotions, and the care with which she lifted dialog right off the page, and (significantly) Alcott’s forward-thinking concern with female equality, long before such things became even acknowledged, let alone acted upon.

But even the most carefully crafted dialog relies upon its delivery system. Gerwig scores here as well, having drawn uniformly strong performances from a talented cast headed by Saoirse Ronan (Jo), Emma Watson (Meg), Florence Pugh (Amy) and Eliza Scanlen (Beth). 

The film opens as Jo, an aspiring author, successfully places a short story with publisher Mr. Dashwood (Tracy Letts) … but only after succumbing to editing demands that gut the little tale. She’s living in a boarding house in New York City, and has caught the eye of young literature professor Friedrich Bhaer (Louis Garrel).

Believing him a kindred spirit, she shares some of her work … and is dismayed when he judges her stories inconsequential little trifles. Ronan plays Jo’s reaction just right; she’s angry, embarrassed, humiliated and defiant … all while stubbornly overlooking Friedrich’s quiet insistence that she can do better.

Star Wars: The Last Jedi — Galaxy-spanning excitement

Star Wars: The Last Jedi (2017) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG-13, for intense sci-fi action and violence
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.15.17

The newest installment in the Star Wars franchise certainly doesn’t lack ambition.

At 152 minutes, The Last Jedi is by far the longest chapter in George Lucas’ originally conceived three-trilogy ennealogy. (I had to look that one up.)

Having been sent on a desperate mission to the obscenely opulent gambling planet of
Canto Bight, Rose (Kelly Marie Tran) and Finn (John Boyega) have decidedly different
views on how to locate their quarry.

It’s also the grimmest, with an emphasis on the word “Wars” that echoes last year’s Rogue One. The middle chapter of a trilogy inevitably is the most dire, as was established in 1980’s The Empire Strikes Back. This new film’s solely credited writer/director, Rian Johnson, clearly took that precedent seriously. We hit the ground running, with few pauses for breath.

But they’re important pauses. Johnson understands the value of dramatic highs and lows, and — most crucially — of leavening dire doings with well-timed dollops of humor.

When last we left our various heroes, the Nazi-esque First Order — having risen from the ashes of the evil Galactic Empire — was eradicating the peaceful New Republic, world by world. Aside from wishing to dominate the universe, the evil Supreme Leader Snoke (Andy Serkis) employed the Darth Vader-esque Kylo Ren (Adam Driver) to seek out and destroy all traces of the Jedi order.

The plucky Rey (Daisy Ridley), imbued with the mysterious Force, has journeyed to the remote oceanic planet Ahch-To, in order to find and train with the long missing Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill). Former Stormtrooper-turned-good guy Finn (John Boyega), badly injured during a lightsaber battle with Kylo Ren, lies comatose in a medical stasis bed. Impetuous pilot Poe Dameron (Oscar Isaac) and his faithful droid, BB-8, joined the Resistance forces commanded by Gen. Leia Organa (Carrie Fisher), as they celebrated the destruction of First Order’s massive Starkiller Base.

If all this seems a voluminous information dump, it’s merely the tip of the iceberg; subplots and sidebar characters reference everything back to 1977’s very first film. Four decades later, it’s extremely difficult for new viewers to jump into this saga, and even longtime fans may need an Internet refresher course.

(This being the era of binge viewing, I suppose the tried-and-true are expected to power-watch the previous seven films before embracing this one. That’s asking a bit much.)

Wilson: Unwatchable

Wilson (2017) • View trailer 
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.)

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.

Wild: An incredible journey

Wild (2014) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated R, for nudity, sexual content, profanity and drug use
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 1.2.15

In June 1995, at the age of 26 and with her life in what could have been an inescapable downward spiral, Cheryl Strayed impulsively — foolishly, naïvely, absurdly — embarked on a solo hike along the Pacific Crest Trail.

A glimpse backward, at a happier time: Cheryl (Reese Witherspoon, right) watches as her
mother, Bobbi (Laura Dern) enjoys a daily ride on the beloved horse that is one of the
few precious things in her life.

The Minneapolis-based liberal arts scholar — magna cum laude, with a double major in English and women’s studies — had zero experience with such activities, but she knew one thing: Her life was in crisis, and she had to do something.

Attempting to regain her soul while trekking through Nature’s wonderland likely seemed a reasonable plan.

The resulting memoir — Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail — was published in the spring of 2012, reaching No. 1 on The New York Times Best Seller list that July. The book was selected for Oprah Winfrey’s Book Club, and in fact had been optioned by Reese Witherspoon’s production company before copies even hit bookstores.

And so here we are, two years and change later, with director Jean-Marc Vallée’s big-screen adaptation bringing Witherspoon the best reviews of her career: accolades that are heartily deserved.

Vallée will be remembered as the director/editor who just last year guided Matthew McConaughey and Jared Leto to Academy Awards in Dallas Buyers Club. Clearly, Vallée has a gift for extracting the best from his actors, and he has worked the same magic here: not merely with Witherspoon, but also — and equally notably — with Laura Dern, utterly luminescent as Cheryl’s wise and loving mother, Bobbi.

And it wouldn’t surprise me if both Witherspoon and Dern galloped home with the same two Oscars.

Vallée also is drawn to fact-based stories involving people in deep spiritual crisis: self-destructive individuals who — whether through anger, anguish or an epiphany — abruptly resolve to turn things around, to make a difference. Two decades passed before scrappy AIDS angel Ron Woodroof’s saga became a film, in Dallas Buyers Club; I’m intrigued by the similar length of time that passed before Strayed felt comfortable turning her chronicle into a book (after which, the film couldn’t have been made faster).

One suspects she needed time to process everything.

When the Game Stands Tall: Gridiron glory

When the Game Stands Tall (2014) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated PG, for mild intensity and brief violence
By Derrick Bang

Inspirational sports sagas are the ultimate feel-good movies; they engage our souls and pluck at the heart, particularly when adversity and underdog status are part of the equation.

And most particularly when they’re true.

Coach Bob Ladouceur (Jim Caviezel, center right), assistant coach Terry Eidson (Michael
Chiklis, center left) and members of the De La Salle Spartans react with undisguised
dread as the much larger and tougher members of the Long Beach Poly team take the
field. What follows is, by far, this film's most exciting chapter. 

Director Thomas Carter has fashioned a stirring drama from former Contra Costa Times sportswriter Neil Hayes’ 2003 nonfiction book, which profiled De La Salle High School football coach Bob Ladouceur at a point when his team had amassed a truly stunning streak of victories. Scripters Scott Marshall Smith and David Zelon have remained pretty close to established fact, allowing for the usual composite characters, one fast-and-loose modification of what happened when, and a needlessly melodramatic sidebar conflict between a young player and his overbearing father.

Those issues aside, Carter’s film is far more accurate than most that claim to be “inspired” by actual events; he respectfully captures the deeply spiritual tone that characterized Ladouceur’s entire coaching career, along with the atypically close ties and locker room candor that bonded the young players.

Yes, they really did take the field, at the start of each game, holding hands.

At first blush, star Jim Caviezel is a perfect fit for Ladouceur; as archive footage of the coach reveals, during the film’s closing credits, Caviezel looks and carries himself in much the same way. He adds the same heartfelt weight to the soulful pep talks that were typical of Ladouceur’s approach: “Winning a lot of football games is doable. Teaching kids there’s more to life, that’s hard.”

We don’t doubt, for a moment, that Caviezel’s Ladouceur genuinely cares about every single one of his players, off the field even more than on.

That said, Caviezel never has been an expressive actor, and those same closing-credits clips also show that the actor lacks the actual coach’s fire and passion. Caviezel is one of the acting community’s Mr. Cools, as his ongoing stint on TV’s Person of Interest reveals quite clearly. He’s dry and flinty, much like Clint Eastwood, and relies on half-smiles, grim silences and stern frowns to get his emotive point across.

Doesn’t always work. Co-star Laura Dern, as Ladouceur’s wife Bev, acts circles around him. She conveys greater emotional depth, in a few brief scenes, than Caviezel manages in the entire film. This is most apparent during the crisis that opens this story, as Ladouceur narrowly survives a heart attack that would have killed many men. Caviezel simply cannot sell the epiphany of Ladouceur’s initial post-recovery chat with his wife, as he acknowledges having been an absentee husband and father because of over-commitment to the job.

Nor does the film really address that issue, moving forward. Given Caviezel’s thespic limitations, that’s probably for the best.

The Fault in Our Stars: Close to faultless

The Fault in Our Stars (2014) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG-13, and perhaps too harshly, for thematic elements, chaste sexuality and fleeting profanity
By Derrick Bang

Every generation embraces at least one swooningly poignant saga of star-crossed lovers, which, as a result of massive ticket sales, becomes a media sensation that generates all sorts of commentary, analysis and — the inevitable backlash — scornful snickering.

During one of her rare bouts of utter despair, Hazel (Shailene Woodley) admits that she
has come to regard her childhood back yard playset as quite pathetic, a sentiment with
which Gus (Ansel Elgort) heartily agrees.

The adulation isn’t hard to understand; we’re hard-wired for this sort of stuff. Have been since 16th century audiences crowded the stalls to see performances of Romeo and Juliet. And probably long before that.

As for the snickering, well, sometimes it’s warranted. (See the 1970 adaptation of Erich Segal’s Love Story. Or the book itself, for that matter.)

A very fine line separates artistic success from the sort of puerile, overly histrionic treacle found in TV soap operas. We therefore ask that our melancholy melodramas be intelligent, populated by perceptive characters whose actions resonate with our real-world experiences and expectations, and which — in the case of films — are made by talented actors who respect the material, scripters with an understanding of subtlety, and directors who refrain from artificially enhancing the emotional intensity. With stuff like too many tight close-ups.

I’m therefore happy to report that director Josh Boone’s adaptation of John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars conducts itself quite honorably. The book’s many, many fans will be delighted to hear key chunks of dialogue and exposition lifted directly from the page, and in a few cases scripters Scott Neustadter and Michael H. Weber have improved the story’s overall flow: some judicious nips and tucks here, a couple of droll laugh lines inserted there. (Films are much better than books, when it comes to verbal zingers.)

Mostly, though, this film gets its momentum and emotional heft from star Shailene Woodley’s expressive and heartbreaking performance as 16-year-old Hazel Grace Lancaster, a girl who handles her cancer death-sentence with the sort disarming candor, mocking wit and stubborn strength that we’d hope to call upon, under similar circumstances.

In a word, Woodley is a revelation.

A performance starts with the overall appearance, and Woodley looks right, with the sallow, waxy pallor — the aura of illness — that results from a terminal disease. More significantly, though, she projects brittleness and fragility, as if she might shatter from abrupt contact, or simply collapse as her skeletal frame betrays her.

Green’s book persuasively depicts Hazel’s constant battle for breath, her body badly compromised by the papillary thyroid cancer that spawned — in her own words, as lifted from Green’s text — an impressive and long-settled satellite colony in her lungs. Woodley conveys this gasping struggle for oxygen just as convincingly, her gritty, determined gaze never quite concealing the despair that bubbles behind her eyes.

Everything Must Go: Intriguing, but flawed

Everything Must Go (2010) • View trailer for Everything Must Go
3.5 stars (out of five). Rating: R, and quite stupidly, for occasional profanity and mild sexual content
By Derrick Bang


One must be wary of screen comics who decide they need to be Meaningful.

The results can be grim.

When Nick (Will Ferrell, left) decides to make a food and beer run, he enlists
the curious Kenny (Christopher Jordan Wallace) to watch all his possessions.
Kenny agrees, mostly because the fascinated teen wants to be on hand, to
witness whatever is going to happen next to this obviously daft adult.

Actually, the results are usually insufferably maudlin. Robin Williams went through a string of increasingly saintly roles — Jack, Patch Adams, Bicentennial Man, What Dreams May Come — while seeking an alternative to his wild ’n’ crazy persona. He finally achieved the desired voice by concentrating on offbeat or unsettling characters (Insomnia, One Hour Photo) and was rewarded with an Academy Award for his genuinely warm supporting turn in Good Will Hunting.

Jim Carrey hasn’t been that lucky. He just about destroyed his career with the overly sentimental The Majestic, and more recent efforts such as The Number 23 haven’t helped matters. Quite wisely, he seems to have retreated to what he does best, with Yes Man and this summer’s upcoming Mr. Popper’s Penguins.

Adam Sandler took an intriguing detour with Punch Drunk Love, and he also delivered credible performances in Reign Over Me and the under-appreciated Spanglish; unfortunately, nobody cared enough to purchase tickets. More recently, his efforts to tug heartstrings in the gawdawful Funny People were a complete bust.

The common theme: They all try too hard. Rather than transition gently from slapstick to, say, light romantic comedy, these guys race all the way to pathos, as if determined to demonstrate an acting range they clearly don’t possess. To repeat one of Clint Eastwood’s catch-phrases from back in the day, A man’s got to know his limitations.

All of which brings us to Will Ferrell.

I was genuinely impressed with his work in Stranger than Fiction, perhaps because he had the good sense to take a supporting role in that quirky fantasy. It wasn’t really a “Will Ferrell movie,” and he didn’t try to turn it into one; his well-modulated performance therefore suggested a genuine capacity for playing outside his usual range.

Alas, with Everything Must Go, Ferrell has made the same mistake as his comedy brethren, and leaped into a pool of treacle. Thus, in this new film, his Nick is an alcoholic who, having gone off the wagon, torpedoes his high-profile corporate career and — on the same day he loses his job — returns home to discover that his wife has dumped all his possessions onto their front lawn, and locked him out of the house.

And disappeared.