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Review: The Perfect Guy

It uses convention to its advantage through intriguing casting choices and effective allusions to film history.

2.5

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The Perfect Guy
Photo: Screen Gems

The Perfect Guy is a routine thriller as scripted by Tyger Williams, but director David M. Rosenthal uses convention to his advantage through an intriguing play with casting choices and surprising, bizarrely effective allusions to film history. Take a scene in which Carter (Michael Ealy), the unhinged ex-boyfriend of a Bay Area lobbyist, Leah (Sanaa Lathan), chases the woman’s neighbor (Tess Harper) in order to shut her up. The neighbor happens upon Carter while he’s tampering with Leah’s security system and soon finds herself clutched from behind and thrown down a flight of stairs, dead before she reaches the bottom. Rosenthal shoots the murder from the bottom of the steps, allowing full view of her body as it tumbles, a framing that almost explicitly recalls Lillian Gish’s fall in Birth of a Nation. And, indeed, the circumstance is comparable: a white woman falling to her death, fearful of a black male’s aggression. These parallels would be a stretch were Rosenthal not forcefully insistent that contemporary relations between race, gender, and class be placed on the chopping block throughout.

Ethnicity is constantly at the fore of The Perfect Guy without ever being explicitly addressed by any characters. Starring three African-American actors, the film encodes racial implications; for example, Leah has a white BFF, reversing racial-casting norms. Unlike Fatal Attraction, too, it’s fractured masculinity, not feminine hysteria, which must be dealt with. At the start of the film, Leah’s dating Dave (Morris Chestnut), but there’s a problem: He doesn’t want kids. She’s pushing 40 and needs more of a long-term commitment from her partner. The inciting exposition seems rather banal; a subsequent meet-cute with Carter inside a coffee shop turns into a weekend with her folks, where Carter enters the “boyfriend hall of fame” by taking her pops to a baseball game. But Rosenthal steadily livens things up by having two white men, on differing occasions, prey upon Leah. The second time, Carter snaps and viciously assaults the offender, prompting Leah’s newfound fear that her charming, well-to-do beau is potentially a psychopath.

Once the basic thriller shtick is in place, Rosenthal reveals that he’s been punking us, since what seemed to be simply thoughtless backdrops, like the bourgie, all-white-patron coffee shop or the all-white firms where Leah and Carter work, are actually meaningful articulations of ethnic difference. Leah’s job is prestigious (she’s an important member of her firm), but no one else in the office looks like her. When she leaves late one night, carefully trekking through an abandoned garage, one realizes it isn’t simply her isolation as a woman that makes her vulnerable, but more specifically as a black woman. Thus, the setting is a literal instance of her frailty, but also a metaphor for her workplace, where she’s doubly alone as a woman of color in a position of prominence.

More thematic haymakers are thrown along racial lines by Rosenthal. When a white detective roughs up Carter in an interrogation room, the white-on-black abuse of privacy and institutional power doesn’t necessarily lend Carter empathy, since he’s a stalking, murderous psychopath, but nor does it make it easy to take any satisfaction in his abuse. In a later scene, once Dave is back with Leah, he tells Carter: “You’re so far out of the picture, it isn’t even funny.” And indeed, The Perfect Guy isn’t laughing when it comes to Leah’s fears that she might lose her loved ones to an irrational, unthinking force of jealousy and insecurity. “He’s a robot,” one cop says to another of Carter, an assessment that resounds along racial lines, since Carter clearly embodies the short-fused violence that pervades not just Leah’s immediate life, but her entire well being as it pertains to her body, mind, and career. The last of those three prompts her to take action into her own hands, a resolution that’s disappointing for its tidy, vengeance-minded ends. Yet it’s no worse or ill advised than the ending of François Truffaut’s The Soft Skin, in which a shotgun-wielding woman takes revenge upon her cheating husband. By the time Leah racks and fires, her pains are at least much deeper and more fully felt.


1.

Cast: Sanaa Lathan, Michael Ealy, Morris Chestnut, Holt McCallany, Tess Harper, Charles S. Dutton Director: David M. Rosenthal Screenwriter: Tyger Williams Distributor: Screen Gems Running Time: 100 min Rating: PG-13 Year: 2015 Buy: Video

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Awards

Oscar 2019 Winner Predictions: Adapted Screenplay

After walking back almost all of its bad decisions ahead of this year’s Oscars, there’s no way AMPAS isn’t going to do the right thing here.

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BlacKkKlansman
Photo: Focus Features

Eric and I have done a good job this year of only selectively stealing each other’s behind-the-scenes jokes. We have, though, not been polite about stepping on each other’s toes in other ways. Okay, maybe just Eric, who in his impeccable take on the original screenplay free-for-all detailed how the guilds this year have almost willfully gone out of their way to “not tip the Oscar race too clearly toward any one film.” Case in point: Can You Ever Forgive Me? winning the WGA’s adapted screenplay trophy over presumed Oscar frontrunner BlacKkKlansman. A glitch in the matrix? We think so. Eric and I are still in agreement that the race for best picture this year is pretty wide open, though maybe a little less so in the wake of what seemed like an easy win for the Spike Lee joint. Nevertheless, we all know that there’s no Oscar narrative more powerful than “it’s about goddamn time,” and it was so powerful this year that even the diversity-challenged BAFTAs got the memo, giving their adapted screenplay prize to Lee, Charlie Wachtel, David Rabinowitz, and Kevin Willmott. To bamboozle Lee at this point would, admittedly, be so very 2019, but given that it’s walked back almost all of its bad decisions ahead of this year’s Oscars, there’s no way AMPAS isn’t going to do the right thing.

Will Win: BlacKkKlansman

Could Win: Can You Ever Forgive Me?

Should Win: BlacKkKlansman

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Review: How to Train Your Dragon: The Hidden World Makes the Most of Growing Up

The film is noteworthy for its rumination on the subtle costs of its characters’ newfound prosperity.

2.5

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How to Train Your Dragon 3: The Hidden World
Photo: Universal Pictures

Time plays a key role in the How to Train Your Dragon films, with each successive entry following up on the characters after several years in order to trace the impact of actions they took. The third film in the series, The Hidden World, sees these characters and their island in the sky greatly transformed from their humble beginnings. Berk, once a barren village inundated with brutal dragon hunters, is now practically impregnable, a haven for the endangered dragons. Hiccup (Jay Baruchel) is also now its chief, and his companion, Toothless, is the reigning alpha male of all dragons. As a result, The Hidden World doesn’t lend itself as easily to the showstopping spectacle of its predecessors, which saw Hiccup and Toothless doing battle against stronger and often bigger enemies, but it remains noteworthy for its rumination on the subtler costs of these characters’ newfound prosperity.

Early in Dean DeBlois’s film, much is made of the way that Hiccup and his friends have come to take their dragons for granted; raids to free captured dragons only succeed as a result of the enormity of the freed dragons compensating for sloppy human error. Complacency has made the film’s heroes prone to negligence, and the holes left in their security are quickly exploited by Grimmel the Grisley (F. Murray Abraham), a dragon hunter who, having almost single-handedly brought the Night Fury species to extinction, is now targeting Toothless. Not unlike that of other villains in the series, Grimmel’s motivation is simple, but he differentiates himself from, say, Drago Bludvist in his calm, eerily playful demeanor. He easily slips through Hiccup’s lax defenses, and while he could easily kill Toothless within the film’s first act, he spares the creature for the purposes of playing mind games on humans and dragons alike.

Grimmel’s psychological torment results in short bursts of guerrilla warfare, and much of the film’s action scenes tend to revolve around the heroes contending with Grimmel’s own dragons, garish creatures with retractable tusks, scorpion-like tails, and an equal ability to breathe acid and flame. Their attacks feel truly frightening, in no small part for the way the camera tumbles along with these creatures’ skittering and rapacious lunges. Seeing such vicious, disorienting fights play out amid the vividly colorful world of The Hidden World is jarring, exacerbating the sense that Grimmel has completely upended the characters’ usual understanding of conflict and badly exposed their inability to adapt to new situations.

That struggle to evolve also marks the film’s secondary conflict: the internal debate that Hiccup comes to have over his and other humans’ relationships to dragons. The film’s title refers to a mythical realm of dragons that Hiccup seeks in order to build a new, more secure Berk in perfect harmony with dragons. Gradually, however, his notion of utopia is challenged by the increasing realization that even the well-meaning, dragon-loving citizens of Berk still treat their beasts as subordinates rather than as equals. This comes to a head when Toothless, thought to be the last of his kind, comes into contact with a radiant, white-colored female Light Fury and his erstwhile devotion to Hiccup takes a back seat to his biological drive to hook up. Much of the film concerns Toothless attempting to perform courtship rituals to impress his potential mate and increasingly pulling away from his human master in order to spend time with his love interest. Scenes of Toothless clumsily performing dances and other mating rituals are humorous, but underneath his stumbles is a mildly tragic reminder of how alone he’s felt despite living among so many other kinds of dragons.

The difficulty that Hiccup has in accepting his companion’s independence exposes that, for all that the character has evolved as a leader across this series, he’s yet to fully mature. The Hidden World, not unlike Toy Story 3, is fundamentally about the act of growing up and letting go, of coming to terms with the impermanence of relationships. If the film sometimes feels too small in comparison to its predecessors, it manages to make the most of its quietest moments, acknowledging that some aspects of getting older are scary, and that accepting the sacrifices of growing up is as much an achievement as overcoming any living, breathing villain.

Cast: Jay Baruchel, America Ferrera, F. Murray Abraham, Cate Blanchett, Craig Ferguson, Jonah Hill, Christopher Mintz-Plasse, Kristen Wiig, Gerard Butler, Kit Harington, Justin Rupple, David Tennant Director: Dean DeBlois Screenwriter: Dean DeBlois Distributor: Universal Pictures Running Time: 104 min Rating: PG Year: 2019

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Review: Paddleton Is an Unintentionally Creepy Ode to the Man-Child

The film largely plays its scenario with a straight and gooey face, coaxing its actors to indulge their worst tendencies.

1.5

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Paddleton
Photo: Netflix

Director Alex Lehmann’s Paddleton owes quite a bit of its sensibility to actor and co-writer Mark Duplass, who—along with his brother and collaborator Jay Duplass—specializes in cinema that fetishizes kindness and decency, sometimes at the expense of drama. The Duplass brothers have perfected a cinema of artisanal mildness that has grown increasingly sentimental, with the prickliness of The Puffy Chair giving way to the platitudes of Jeff, Who Lives at Home and the HBO series Togetherness. And the wearyingly precious Paddleton continues this slide into self-pleased insularity.

Michael (Duplass) spends all his considerable free time with his upstairs neighbor, Andy (Ray Romano). Like many characters conceived by Duplass, Michael and Andy are enraptured with the cocoons they’ve created for themselves. Each night, they get together at Michael’s and eat pizza, solve puzzles, or watch the kung fu movie Death Punch, which pivots on notions of loyalty that they’ve internalized as representing the steadfastness of their friendship. When the men feel like leaving the house, they play a game they’ve made up called Paddleton, which is basically handball with a metal barrel added at the back of their makeshift court for extra scoring. And that’s pretty much it, as Michael and Andy have no lovers, family, or other friends or hobbies. In fact, they look at one another with such pregnant, hang-dog adoration that one wonders if they’re dating (an assumption shared by one of the film’s few supporting characters), which would be much healthier than the apparent truth of the situation.

Michael and Andy are decent-looking, middle-aged, presumably straight men who’ve decided to play house together. This premise is ripe for satire (of the rigid co-dependency of hetero men) or pathos (pertaining to people scarred by trauma, who’re hiding from life), but Lehmann largely plays this scenario with a straight and gooey face, coaxing his actors to indulge their worst tendencies. Duplass and Romano are shrewd and intelligent performers, but they have a similar maudlin streak; in their respective careers, they tend to value schlubby inexpressiveness as a barometer of truth and realism. (Two respective TV shows, The League for Duplass and Vinyl for Romano, allowed the actors to channel their inner wolves.) In Paddleton, Michael and Andy are so disinterested in external life they seem deranged, though the actors play this terror for homey cuteness, and Lehmann often lingers on close-ups of their emoting, leaving the audience with nothing to discover for itself. The film’s sanctimonious devotion to these man-children is deeply, unintentionally creepy.

Understanding that this buddy shtick isn’t enough for even a direct-streaming comedy, Lehmann and Duplass have added a tear-jerking gimmick: Michael learns in the opening scene that he’s dying of cancer, and he decides that he will take a fatal medication before his illness becomes too painful. In other words, Michael will commit medically assisted suicide, which Andy objects to. One assumes that this conflict will be the driving force of the narrative, but Lehmann and Duplass aren’t interested in the moral implications of Michael’s dilemma, which never causes a significant problem for his platonic love affair with Andy. This plot turn is here to lend the flabby sketches an unearned sense of import, as every meaningful detail of illness is elided. How does Michael, who works at an office supplies store, afford expensive medications—or even to live by himself? What will he say to his family? Such concerns are irrelevant to the film’s hermetic celebration of Duplass and Romano’s chemistry.

Michael and Andy’s desire to seemingly live forever as teenage boys, gorging on pizza and films during sleepovers, is fleetingly interrogated. There’s a promising scene where a woman, Nancy (Dendrie Taylor), hits on Andy in a hotel hot tub, as Andy’s shyness gives way to sheepish, self-hating terror. Here, Romano finally has an emotion to play other than dorky amiability, and the actor rises to the occasion, suggesting with his cowering physicality that Andy is haunted by sexual failure. But the filmmakers nip this scene just as it bears fruit, moving on to yet another unthreatening stanza of pseudo-comedic communion as if determined to see Paddleton cancel itself out before our eyes.

Cast: Mark Duplass, Ray Romano, Alexandra Billings, Kadeem Hardison, Dendrie Taylor Director: Alex Lehmann Screenwriter: Mark Duplass, Alex Lehmann Distributor: Netflix Running Time: 88 min Rating: NR Year: 2019

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