After an hour of predictably sophomoric antics involving foulmouthed kids, compulsively self-pleasuring canines and the rampant objectification of women, Click turns into a surrealist death dream in which Sandler’s masochistic impulses flower onscreen as never before. As Newman rockets uncontrollably through his own future, he enjoys none of life’s pleasures and suffers all of its ravages: sickness, aging, the death of loved ones — you name it. And the message is that Newman by and large gets what he deserves. He’s the flip side of the harried family man Sandler deftly portrayed in 2004’s Spanglish — less a loving husband and father torn between family and career than a violent and possibly pathological depressive trying to pin down the moment when his life became not his own. The film’s vulgarity — comic, emotional and otherwise — never lets up, and director Frank Coraci (The Wedding Singer) manages to frame it with some of the more garish imagery (particularly in the futuristic scenes) ever to defile a motion-picture screen. But Sandler holds the whole god-awful mess on his shoulders as ably as anyone could, striving to say something meaningful about the arrested development and unarticulated rage of the American male. Surely, nobody else could package the tragedy of a ridiculous man as a featherweight farce and have it turn into what I suspect will be a major hit. Sandler is young yet, but he could end up one of the genius men in American comedy.
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Remotes Haven't Clicked In Decades
Click--which I can't mention without also mentioning that the Weird Science TV show did it first, but enough about that--gets a not exactly good but nonetheless fascinating review from LA Weekly.