There are some makers who although talented in a specific way, move into a space that simply shows their talent to be little. Alexander Payne for example could be making stylized comedies with no problem, but as soon as he moves into elegy and meaning, it all becomes a sophomoric play. We've known Malick in that field and Payne is like a film school grad next to him.
So it would seem Apatow has an effervescent personality, at least enough to want to move out from his comfort zone. He could be cranking penis joke comedies till the cows come home but wants to move into more somber reflection about the pains of life. He has tried this a few times by now.
Here he tries a few switches. A movie about the usual slob who never grew out of adolescence but she's a girl. Men are almost entirely immature or idiots, and for some reason I can't begin to fathom, half of them gay, that is except for the knight in white armor who patiently helps her grow out of herself. He puts them in that New York movie romance where a couple are on and off again and might even think he's turning Woody Allen upside down. Indicative; the familiar romantic scene on a bench looking over at Brooklyn Bridge ends with a blowjob.
None of it sticks after a point and it's off-putting to think he might be thinking of any of this as transgressive. So he has moved out from the familiar safety of what he can do well, into a space that shows him to have trivial insights and odd hangups, from primarily a comedy about life where laughter sanctifies reductions, to primarily a drama about life where muttering dialogue and stereotypes rattle in the nothingness of not having anything to impart. He moves, even if ever so slightly, into territory that Woody, Bergman, and Altman have occupied. But in this space he's shown to be a dunderhead.
