drqshadow-reviews

In the summer of '98, the idea of an absolute nobody becoming a celebrity, living his whole average life under a camera's eye, seemed a little far-out and scary. Flash forward thirty years and the one-two punch of social media and influencer culture has made this a dream occupation. Of course, the difference is Truman didn't realize he was under constant surveillance, his emotions mined and manipulated for maximum dramatic effect, but otherwise the parallels are pretty shocking. The difference in perception is also rather telling. When Truman discovers the truth, appalled at the idea of what he's been subject to, he panics and bolts. Society (both in the viewing audience and in their twisted cinematic mirror image) cheers his escape; the orchestra swells; the vibes are good. The little man is resisting a truth that's been imposed by external forces. I wonder how many modern viewers smile and switch off the television, then reach for their phone and check their favorite livestream without registering the irony.

Peter Weir's direction really emphasizes the uncanny and off-putting aspects of Truman's existence. The brow-furrowing moments that threaten to shatter the illusion, like the best buddy who expertly positions a beer label before making a toast. The hip checks and shoulder blocks that physically redirect a too-polite nice guy away from his heart's desire and into the arms of the woman producers have already cast as his designated love interest. These little beats are crucial in deconstructing the lie. He might not think much of them at the time - that was a little weird but whatever - but once he's been given a legitimate reason to doubt the fantasy, they all come flooding back in a rush. In that leading role, Jim Carrey first exudes a great cheeseball suburban white guy attitude, then visibly cracks and spirals into conspiracy-induced mania. Everyone watching at home knows he's in the right, but we also recognize how impossible it must have felt to earnestly believe one thing and hear something different from everyone who's ever meant anything to him on a personal level.

That's good philosophy fodder, a debate about the meeting point of free-will and social expectation. What are the limits of the cage we compose around ourselves? The Truman Show doesn't delve too terribly deep into these weeds - this is a big-budget summer movie, after all - but it gives its audience enough to get dirty if they're so inclined. Pretty impressive that it can work just as well on that front as it does a broader, pop-friendly, crowd-pleasing one.

Steve Carell's first major starring vehicle is just as profane and improv-happy as any other jam by Apatow's crew, but the serious beats have a little extra heart. Carell is picture perfect as the über-tentative introvert for whom "it just never happened," plucking exactly the right notes of social awkwardness and apprehension without casting any shade or drawing any simplistic conclusions. Here's a guy who marches to his own beat, maybe a little autistic, who's carved a happy little life for himself without caving to society's pressure to pair off and settle down. His coworkers at a big box electronics store poke and tease him over it, but this is just how their little bro circle operates and, once he's had time to recognize that the jeering is their way of welcoming him into the fold, he embraces it. I was working at Circuit City when The 40-Year-Old Virgin hit theaters, and it's an incredibly accurate rendition of the locker room kinship I experienced, spending shifts with that kind of job in that time and place.

As is often the case with this sort of drive-by ensemble comedy, not every joke lands. Plenty do, though, and the bigger set pieces, rife with visual humor, excel. Carell's chest waxing scene, which he underwent for real, is still an absolute riot, both for the patently absurd things he says and for the inimitable way he shrieks and contorts as the hair comes off. With a cavalcade of about-to-be-big comedy names in the background - Paul Rudd, Seth Rogen, Elizabeth Banks, Jane Lynch, Mindy Kaling, Kevin Hart and about two dozen contemporaries - the star doesn't need to do quite so much heavy-lifting and can focus on adding a little pathos to his punchlines. He'd make a pretty good career of that in the ensuing years, and I'd argue this is the role that showed he had such versatility within him. There's real sweetness in his rapport with a middle-aged love interest, Catherine Keener, and her nearly-grown daughter. Something with a little more complexity than "I love lamp."

This isn't an upper-tier comedy, but it's an easy watch that shouts a good message. Its heart's in the right place, even if it phrases its thoughts in obscene, juvenile ways.

Given the sensitive, politically-charged subject matter - a full classroom of children disappearing overnight - I expected another heavy "horror as social commentary" type of film here. Spoiler warning: it's not that. Weapons is horror in the same vein as an eerie fairy tale. Kids are always being stolen and/or eaten in those stories, in equally puzzling ways and for equally crazy reasons. Once I recognized that, I was able to exhale and relax a little bit, to better enjoy the ride as something a little more traditional, with less stress on my metaphorical tripwire sensors.

Suburban neighborhoods aren't an original setting for this type of movie, but this example is loaded with cold, modern familiarity. The closeness of American society has decayed in the past few decades; we keep to ourselves more and trust our neighbors less. In an era of always-watching smart doorbells, closed social circles and parent-teacher shouting matches, it's much easier to believe a community could turn upon itself like this. In the aftermath of the mass disappearance, misplaced blame abounds, with desperate parents openly baring their prejudices to muster their own boogeymen. That's an effective note, reinforced at several points, which provides a more uncomfortable type of chill. Something a little closer to home. This is where the film is really at its best; creepy and unsettling, but firmly planted in reality.

Eventually, though, those more nuanced ideas get left behind, relegated to accents and afterthoughts by a more colorful, typical baddie. The finale is a blood-soaked bonanza, a cruel and creepy climax that balances grim outcomes with a few well-timed doses of dark humor, but it doesn't suit the setup. The answers are too forthcoming; the payoff is underwhelming and a little cheap. Once its hand finally tips, Weapons pivots from an enveloping, suspenseful mystery into a simple supernatural screamer. It's an interesting story, told in an interesting way, with an effective setting and a number of memorable performances, but that too-easy resolution left me hanging.