"Loopy
and Original Punch-Drunk a Glory for Sandler"
It will
probably not come as much of a shock to anyone if I come out as
an ardent non-fan of Adam Sandler. That's probably not quite
fair. It isn't so much the man I am against as much as it is his
films. From Billy Madison to this year's debacle Mr.
Deeds, the popularity of this ignoramus and his movies
has constantly eluded me.
Not that I
don't think the comic isn't talented. He is. One only need look
back at some of his inspired turns on Saturday Night Live
for proof there. In his films he's shown glimpses of such magic,
most notably moments of blind spontaneous hilarity in Happy
Gilmore (which was otherwise forgettable) and touching
understatement in The Wedding Singer (which was never
more than overtly pleasant). But overall Sandler has shown a
risk-adverse style that produces the lowest common denominator
in film entertainment, with wrecks like The Waterboy,
Bulletproof and Little Nicky littering the cinematic
landscape.
All that
changes with Paul Thomas Anderson’s new film Punch-Drunk
Love. A love-letter to the golden age of film, Anderson’s
opus is the equivalent of a jubilant Technicolor MGM romantic
musical, except without the requisite singing and dancing and
crossed with a stark cynicism that is Sandler’s hallmark. A film
that takes risks in the boatload, Punch-Drunk Love is one
of 2002’s most glorious finds.
Barry Egan
(Sandler) is a sales executive for a company that sells novelty
toiletry items. He also has seven sisters who are constantly on
his case. They goad him incessantly about everything from his
childhood to his current aloof single status, working for a
company going nowhere. Barry wants desperately for his sisters
to just leave him be and while he tries to be nice and
accommodating during family gatherings this is only a mask
shielding an inner rage that comes exploding to the surface at
the least predictable moments.
Who could
love a lost, scared and scarred child such as Barry who, as it
turns out, is all he really wants from life? I might be the
sweetly sympathetic Lena (Emily Watson) whom asks him to watch
her car before the auto mechanics can take a look at it and
later goes with Barry on a dinner date. She’s a lost soul, too,
in many ways and sees clearly the hurt that pervades the
salesman’s soul. Lena also sees the goodness and charity in him
as well; she’s more than willing to help ease his inner turmoil
and let Barry’s good character come to the fore.
Punch-Drunk Love
is a true treasure. In Anderson’s world – Hard Eight,
Boogie Nights and Magnolia – people meet by chance
and anything can happen. Such is the case here. Barry finds a
harmonium early in the film that serves no real purpose other
than to serve as a conversation piece and an outlet for his
aggressions where they can become beautiful in a wheezy-whiny
sort of way.
Wearing a
perfectly tailored electric blue suit throughout the film
–inspired by a similar suit worn by Fred Astaire in Vincent
Minnelli’s wondrous musical The Band Wagon – Sandler fits
perfectly into Barry’s imperfect world. This is the first role
that fully taps into Sandler’s gift for comic tragedy. It is as
if the grace of Buster Keaton has given away to the pathos of
the great French filmmaker Betrand Blier, and the combination is
nothing less than astounding.
Granted,
some of it doesn’t work very well. A subplot involving Philip
Seymour Hoffman, an obnoxious phone sex operator and four
brain-dead brothers does not add all that much or go anywhere.
Still, the glory is in watching Anderson reaching for something
new and different, taking real chances by recalling Hollywood’s
golden age and mixing it with a modern turmoil and pessimism,
yet still allowing for love to indeed conquer all.
Sandler
was born for a movie like this. Watching him explore Barry’s
inner demons is fascinating. In his comedies, the actor has only
hinted at the just under-the-surface anger and terror that so
many in the working world suffer through. For the first time,
that rage is allowed to blossom and expand a character into
heartbreaking brilliance. Barry’s explosions in the film are
sudden and uncompromising, his final jolt a burst of anger
reeking of pathos.
Will
Sandler take chances like this more in the future? I can only
hope so. For the first time I find myself wanting to respect the
comic as an actor and not just a preening clown. Anderson has
found a way to use Sandler in deep and moving ways and fashioned
a film around him of unquestionable originality and brilliance.
And while I never thought I'd use the words "original" and
"brilliant" in a review about an Adam Sandler film, here's
hoping this isn't the only time I get the opportunity.
