Two stars. Rated R, for profanity
By Derrick Bang
Inevitability is the death of
drama.
Ten minutes into Brad’s Status, it’s blindingly obvious
where writer/director Mike White will take his story, and precisely how he’ll
get there.
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| Brad (Ben Stiller, right) and his son, Troy (Austin Abrams), time their visit to Harvard so they can catch a classical music concert by one of the latter's former high school friends. |
And that journey is pretty damn
dull.
Mind you, the premise would have
been a tough sell, even under more optimal circumstances. A middle-class,
mid-life crisis feels unpalatably narcissistic these days, and casting Ben
Stiller in such a project is way too
on the nose. Much of his career has involved playing self-absorbed mopes, and
this story’s Brad Sloan finds Stiller treading his own well-worn ground.
A 101-minute self-pity party
isn’t my idea of a good time. Particularly when White’s plot bumps are so
predictable.
Brad and his wife Melanie (Jenna
Fischer) lead comfortable lives in suburban Sacramento; he runs a nonprofit
that matches worthy causes with like-minded angel investors, while she pulls in
“real money” with a government job. Their 17-year-old only child Troy (Austin
Abrams) is college-bound, prompting a father/son trip across the country, to
check out the universities likely to extend offers on the basis of the lad’s
strong transcript and solid extracurriculars.
It’s a milestone event for Brad,
which triggers all sorts of memories, long-buried desires and Big Questions. Am
I successful? Have I done everything in life, that my impassioned, idealistic
college-age self intended?
Trouble is, White saddles Brad
with some rather insensitive dialogue right off the bat, during the sleepless
night before the trip, in the form of a financially themed chat with the
patiently exhausted Melanie. Right away, we don’t like Brad. He sounds and
behaves like a whiny jerk, and Stiller never does much to change that snap
judgment.
Which is a problem, because we’re
definitely supposed to identify — even sympathize — with this guy. That’s an
uphill struggle, likely impossible for some.
Matters aren’t helped when Brad
constantly shares his innermost thoughts, via a constant sulky voice-over. I’ve
long found unrelenting off-camera narration a potential red flag in cinematic
storytelling; very few writers and directors know how to use it properly. White
isn’t one of them; the technique merely slows his already dull fill to a
lifeless crawl.
