There comes a time in a man's life when he can watch a movie about a breakup and laugh. And wince. Maybe that point comes when he realizes how much verisimilitude (even if it is slack verisimilitude) a filmic argument can handle: there's a great hyperkinetic 10 opening minutes to this movie: Vince Vaughn, mouth in overdrive, wooing the hell out of an extremely fetching Jennifer Aniston, right in front of her boyfriend, a couple seats down at a Cubs game, cut to credits with a variety of cleverly posted and faked "candid" photos of a couple in love, cut to domestic bliss (or at least a big mortgage payment) and an increasingly heated argument--you bring 3 lemons when the girl asks for 12, and you're going to get it with both barrels, bubb. The argument simmers through a painful dinner with opposing, incompatible, in-laws (if one can truly have in-laws if one cohabits) and then flares up again, over dishes. The bang comes, then, without surprise: Aniston, screaming her head off, delivers the coup de grace--some variation on "I'm not going to spend any more time with you, you selfish, slobbish prick, you prick!"--and then, post door-slam, the camera lingers on the surprisingly neanderthalish expression on Vaughn's face, and the shocked breathlessness of Aniston, perfectly contra-posto, as the realization of what was said, and the implications, sink in.
I recognize that this movie garnered its share of negative reviews, and I'll admit the points of contention are there: Aniston is an extraordinarily toned, blonde, and bronzed body, but beyond aspects of learned helplessness (the writers obviously unwilling to give her character the claws and authentic ruthlessness she might have in real life; she oscillates (rapidly) between scheming to return her man and ways to drive him away) she lacks effective characterization. Vaughn is perhaps implausible as well, a magnificent confidence man, but too emotionally withdrawn to make a relationship work, and sometimes the film feels very Odd Couple, with frightenly little common ground.
(Reviews: Slate, NYTimes, idealistic.)
I'm going to tell you why this is a great movie, should make you squirm in your seat, and why it really pole-axes you with an unblinking portrayal of how people rip apart, argument by argument, failed reconciliation by failed reconciliation, self-serving statement by self-aggrandizing comment, bad advice by bad advice. This film paints a breakup as a series of cascading bad conversations, with no attempt to repair them with a modicum of kindness or apology. I'll tell you that I see a lot of myself in Vaughn's character: fast-talking, a friend to all but close to few, a facade in need of rooms. I see a lot of myself in this ultimately unhappy relationship, two more or less happy years, based in hard work and an appreciation of the sheer kinetic joy of performance, but a relationship without any real firm mooring in common interest or productive conciliation. I'll tell you that this movie, despite what people say, might well be a great indictment of cohabitation as it leaves lovers with property but without the scheduled, rigorous, commitments of marriage.
But the final reason why this film is magnificent, and uncomfortable, and searing, is that it doesn't blink. Sure, Tom Brady's model-quality looks are used to great effect, and he's a hunk of a prop. Sure, there are the throwaway gags, the strip poker game, the (dreadful) a capella group that could be an aged Octet. The core of this film is a rotting relationship, and two people unwilling to set aside temporary differences and talk, unguardedly. The film keeps tiptoeing around failed reconciliations, until there's nothing to say.
This is brave, it goes without saying, and this is true. And that's the experience of these minutes in the theatre: how you can go from lovers, in a home together, to strangers on the street with nothing to say and no interest to say it, in a hop, skip, and a jump.
Recommended.
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