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Volume CXXXII, Number 8 |
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Punch Drunk knocks 'em dead
MONICA GUZMAN
COLUMNIST
What would you say if I told you that Adam Sandler was a great actor?
You'd probably laugh and look at me funny. "No one can be a good actor when all they do is star in stupid comedies the whole college world quotes," you'd tell me. "And besides, I eat pieces of shit like you for breakfast!"
"You eat shit for breakfast?" I'd reply, and we'd laugh uproariously at the clever integration of one of Happy Gilmore's funniest moments into our own conversation before launching into a wild rendition of "Lunch Lady Land."
Okay-well that's all over. Kiss the red hooded sweatshirt goodbye and put on your thinking caps filmgoers, 'cause Sandler's getting serious.
In Punch Drunk Love, Sandler plays Barry Egan, an awkward thirty-something stuck in a miserable life he doesn't understand and can't overcome. One morning, as he stands on the side of the road by his office, a car suddenly overturns. In the next instant, a cab company van drops a small piano at his feet. He stares at it, utterly confused, goes back to work, but then runs back outside, picks it up, brings it into his office, and plops it on his desk. This is the first scene of the film.
It only gets weirder-and thicker. Barry realizes he's got plenty of things to figure out-a phone sex line credit card scam, seven dominating sisters, fits of uncontrollable rage, pudding to exchange for airline miles-and, of course, the girl, Lena (Emily Watson), who can give him the one thing he needs to get out of this mess: love.
Sound straightforward? It's not; it's mixed up and weird, like Barry's life. But weird is good, because inside the weirdness there's meaning-you can feel it as you're watching, even if you can't quite figure it out. But it will stay with you, begging to be understood. If you answer the call, you'll be rewarded.
You'll see that Barry's understanding of the piano parallels his understanding of his life; that the blue suit he's wearing reflects his apologetic alienation from the world (whoa-getting too technical); that every color, every sound, every word, and every movement means something far richer, deeper, and more beautiful to anyone who is willing to listen. Pull this film apart and you'll see a marvelous narrative structure that takes Barry step by step towards discovering the strength in love.
Blame this complexity on writer/director Paul Thomas Anderson (Magnolia, Boogie Nights) and his knack for character-centered dramas. He exploits all the elements of cinematic mood- music, camera movement, lighting-to thrust Barry Egan at us with such ferocity that we feel what he feels; we follow him and become him. The most ordinary situations, when seen from within Barry's awkwardness, can become cathartic. Under the pressure-cooker music and the chaotic camera angles, a simple conversation with his sister can be utterly painful or with soft lighting, bright colors, and a carefree camera; a casual meeting with Lena becomes strangely soothing. The cinematography will take you right out of your secure little world into Barry's world-where everything is too big to handle, and nothing is ever simple.
At first glance, Barry may seem to be the total opposite of everything Adam Sandler's characters have ever been. But he's practically the same. Barry, like the Waterboy, like Big Daddy, like Billy Madison, is confused about society and his place in it. Except here it's not funny anymore. It's almost tragic.
Punch Drunk Love is one of the most intriguing films of the year. It can take you to extremes of your intellect you never knew existed-if you want to go that far.