PUNCH-DRUNK LOVE C+
USA (95 mi) 2002
‘Scope d: Paul Thomas Anderson Punch-Drunk
Love
This is an uninvolving film that goes haywire from start to
finish, perhaps exploring some obsessive, passive-aggressive medical condition
that doesn’t exist, more likely treading on thin ice, psychologically, as what
this really is is another Adam Sandler movie, filled with little idiosyncrasies
that come from his weird comedic persona, though the film was written and
directed by Anderson, the shortest film in his repertoire, perhaps resembling
the sprawling chaotic mess that emanates from Jerry Lewis movies, but this is
on a completely other level altogether, and not in a funny way, or one that ultimately
succeeds. What’s missing here is an
ounce of credibility or believability, lost in some kind of imaginary fantasia
on urban alienation, yet somehow there are some that think Adam Sandler has
somehow transformed himself into a serious actor, including Roger Ebert, Punch-Drunk
Love Movie Review (2002) | Roger Ebert, who claims he “reveals unexpected
depths as an actor. Watching this film,
you can imagine him in Dennis Hopper roles.”
Incredulously, one couldn’t disagree more, as it seems like the same old
guy that first took the nation by storm as a weird character on Saturday Night Live TV (1975 to present). While there are amusing moments, to be sure,
the question is do they make up for all the other uncomfortable moments of
wreaking havoc with reality, making this little more than a fairy tale. Arguably the weakest film by this director,
as whatever love may be found at the end does not in any way make up for the
inexcusable behavior, violent outbursts, and lame attempt to express depressive
behavior, actually making fun of it, where one consequence is that those with
serious medical issues may be taken less seriously, as Sandler normalizes his reprehensible
outbursts, after all, finding love and happiness in the end. The same can’t be said for those actually
suffering from depression, where baby steps are a barometer of
improvement. This outlandish concept is
part of a breezy and whimsical romantic escapade that indulges in senseless
violence as part of the repercussions for being human, and then excuses it
because the lead character means well, or so it seems, so let’s cut him a
break. At least he’s trying. If only we were that forgiving for the
criminal acts of those suffering from medical issues, but our jails are filled
with people who have done far less offensive behavior. The latest trend is for police officers to
actually shoot and kill the mentally ill, representing a quarter of police
shootings in 2017 (Police
shootings 2017 database - Washington Post) because they don’t follow
commands, mistaking them for normal, when they’re not. This film desensitizes viewers to that
reality, instead wrapping up borderline psychotic episodes with musical songs
and pretty colored balloons, making it all seem so harmless.
Adam Sandler is Barry Egan, a goofy guy who is not just a
loner, but a loser, emotionally infantile and remote, a guy that dwells on
hating himself, frustrated and overwhelmed by his own insecurities, pushed around
by his seven bullying sisters who gnaw away at his self-esteem, treating him
like a pathetic basket case who just doesn’t fit into the family, always
questioning his intent, so he leads a boring, non-descript life, spending a lot
of time by himself, though prone to uncontrollable crying episodes, resorting
to violent uncontrollable outbursts that erupt when things go wrong,
apologizing for the damage afterwards, but his aggression issues are alarming,
making him an unsympathetic figure, where viewers may wonder what the hell is
wrong with this guy. Leading a solitary
life, wearing the same blue suit throughout the entire movie, never changing
his clothes (who metaphorically may as well be called Mr. Blue), he works out
of an empty warehouse in the Los Angeles suburbs selling supposedly
indestructible plungers, though the one we see him display smashes to
smithereens. He thinks he’s onto
something with his latest brainstorm, however, when he discovers coupons for
airline mileage have a coding error, allowing him to collect hundreds of
thousands of miles for just a few hundred bucks, upping the ante, thinking for
a few thousand he could attain over a million miles, seemingly unlimited
mileage, though he’s never flown on a plane, stocking up on pudding cups (the
cheapest item with the greatest reward) that pile up in a corner of the
warehouse, causing attention. But before
we learn anything about him, a mysterious occurrence takes place before his
observing eyes, as a car comes careening down the street in front of his warehouse
before crashing, turning over several times, where a cab screeches to a halt
right in front of him, depositing a harmonium on the street, as if that was the
object of the chase, and then accelerates out of sight. Not that any of that makes any sense, Barry
simply returns to his job as if nothing happened, but an attractive English
lady (Emily Watson) leaves her car for repairs in the outside alley, leaving
him the keys as the neighboring company doesn’t open for another hour and she
has to get to work. Again he thinks
nothing of it, like this kind of stuff happens all the time. What sets this film apart from others is the
Gary Rydstrom audio design, mixed with the percussive musical score by Jon
Brion, and repeating abstract color designs by Jeremy Blake, as a neverending
series of distractions pile up at work, taking on a life of their own, as we
hear incessant phone calls interrupting his sales pitch, also the accusatory
tone of his sister (Mary Lynn Rajskub) visiting him at work, reduced to snippets
of dialogue on repeat, sounding overly condescending, introducing him to the
English lady with the car, Lena (presumably the Lady in Red), her coworker who
turns out to be some kind of blind date set-up, asking questions, making him
feel like he’d like to just disappear altogether, as the warehouse sounds grow
into a crescendo of noise drowning out his own life, given a kind of symphonic
expression that intensifies until the bubble bursts when a forklift accident
occurs just outside his office, and we’re back to reality. In this way it’s easy to see how Barry’s mind
wanders or gets distracted, collecting too much information, losing focus
altogether, overcome by unseeable and unknowable forces that leave him emotionally
paralyzed, confused and disoriented, evoking the titular mood of being
punch-drunk.
What seemingly gets the ball rolling is an odd parallel of
two forces, first a telephone sex chat line that Barry, in a moment of
loneliness, succumbs to that turns out to be an extortionist scam that feeds on
his credit card information, continually asking for more money, eventually
sending thugs out to collect their fee if the customer hesitates to pay, which
only adds to the already victimized relationship Barry has with a seemingly
hostile world. The other is the boldness
of Lena’s continual interest in Barry, making all the first moves, calling him,
asking him out, where it takes a while before Barry even realizes what she’s
offering, as he’s so used to people having little to no interest in him. When someone finally takes an interest, he
literally goes bonkers, destroying the bathroom fixtures in the restaurant in a
cringeworthy moment where he’s apparently punishing himself for not being
honest or withholding the truth, rationalizing his behavior before being escorted
off the premises by the manager. Lena,
however, is not dissuaded by this seeming embarrassment, but remains attracted
to him for whatever reason, choreographing one of the more awkward good night
kisses imaginable. However, she’s leaving
for Hawaii the next day on a business trip, with Barry running out buying thousands
of dollars worth of pudding in hopes of attaining free airline mileage to join
her, only to learn it takes six to eight weeks to redeem the coupons, dazed by
the obstacles impeding his path, so in a frantic rush he decides to just head
for the airport, arriving in Hawaii, where he has to play the detective and
learn where she’s staying, all accentuated by a Shelly Duvall as Olive Oyl song
out of Robert Altman’s almost universally unseen POPEYE (1980), Punch-Drunk Love - He needs
me - YouTube (3:15), surprising her with a call, and the unimaginable
happens, becoming an impressionistic, candy-colored, kaleidoscope journey to
paradise. In typical Barry fashion,
staring out at the ocean as they’re having a cocktail, he utters the infamous
words, “It really looks like Hawaii here.”
Apparently that was the aphrodisiac she was looking for, retreating to
their room, where Barry is finally rewarded for all his efforts, as somehow,
someway (despite zero onscreen chemistry between them), things are finally
looking up, echoed by their love chatter, where dirty talk has exceedingly
violent overtones, but it’s right for them, which is all that matters. However there’s lingering unfinished business
back home with the telephone goon squad, sending attackers out to rough up
Barry, led by the boss behind the scenes, no less than Philip Seymour Hoffman
as the mastermind, a creepy guy with a mouth as foul as Barry, getting into a
phone call that’s nothing but a series of F-bombs from both of them, as if they
deserve each other, another kind of distraction that represents a senseless,
jumbled up mess, turning into a Western stand-off that literally goes nowhere, becoming
an unfunny satiric skit on male pride.
But Barry has to clean up the unfinished business in his life before he
can start anew with a clean slate, supposedly happy and in love with an adoring
woman who inexplicably has no problems whatsoever with this guy, making this a
dream come true, just like in the Hollywood musicals.
Note
The intrinsic story is modelled after David Phillips, David Phillips
(entrepreneur) - Wikipedia, aka the Pudding Guy, the University of
California at Davis engineer who discovered a loophole in a Healthy
Choice/American Airlines promotion, bought $3,000 worth of pudding and actually
exchanged it for 1,253,000 frequent-flier miles.
