Review: "This Is 40"

Judd Apatow knows how to create amusing scenes, but as a storyteller he’s hopeless.

The prolific and popular comedy writer/producer/director employs a familiar circle of actors who are encouraged to ad-lib their scenes prodigiously. These are then linked together in an editing process that employs all the restraint of Homer Simpson in a donut factory.

For a sketch comedy show, that’s a great M.O., but for making movies it’s the equivalent of diarrhea.
His last directorial effort, “Funny People,” had a terrific first 80 minutes and then flushed itself down the toilet with an indulgent, overlong visit with the main character’s ex-girlfriend, played by Apatow’s real-life wife, Leslie Mann.

His latest, “This Is 40,” moves Mann from the supporting role to the spotlight, with Paul Rudd playing her husband as the pair deal with twin monster-sized mid-life crises.

Its demise is not quite so systematic as “People,” since you can’t pinpoint an exact moment when the film runs off the rails. But gradually you come to realize you’re trapped watching a bunch of people you don’t like who stopped being funny a while ago.

Knowing Apatow’s estrangement from the concept of brevity, I resolved to go into “This Is 40” not fretting about its length, and just let the story come to me. Finally, when it seemed like it was reaching a point of natural denouement, I looked at my watch. Just over an hour had gone by – meaning I was still less than halfway through the film’s interminable 134 minutes.

Some of the film’s best moments come from the supporting characters, of which there are plenty, played by Apatow mainstays like Jason Segel as well as newcomers like Albert Brooks, Lena Dunham, Melissa McCarthy and Chris O’Dowd. (Many of the latter have appeared in projects Apatow produced.) They get to come on stage, have a nice moment of mirth or pathos, and then dance off. Brooks in particular shines.

The problem is the main characters, Debbie and Pete. They start out as quirky and end up as contemptible. When bad things begin to happen, I found myself cheering on the forces arrayed against them.

Example: their tween daughter gets caught in a nasty Facebook fight with a boy, and then Debbie confronts the online oppressor and browbeats him into crying. Later the boy’s mother (McCarthy) gives Pete a tongue-lashing, and he responds with a violent, misogynistic screed so black-hearted that I rooted for her to bury her fist deep in his sinuses.

For a pair of folks who are both about to turn 40, Pete and Debbie are remarkably juvenile emotionally. Their relationship feels like an ironic sparring between college chums that never progressed into any real emotional depth. Love is more conceptual than operational for them.

They’re indifferent parents at best, greeting their two daughters with harried looks of exasperation, as if having kids is the ultimate downer. Apatow offspring Maude and Iris play the kids, turning this movie into a championship-level nepotism jubilee. The Apatow young’uns are not bad performers, but their dad’s screenplay only provides them with one speed/volume at which to play: the older one is constantly hollering, the younger one always teasing.

The family is faced with some pretty dire financial problems, but it’s hard to summon much sympathy for them, since Debbie and Pete each seem to work about five hours a week. Meanwhile, they spend like bandits – expensive cars, weekend getaways, personal trainers, etc.

He runs a small record label that is unsuccessfully flogging a nostalgia rock act, and she owns a fashion boutique where she occasionally drops by to check in on her two warring employees (Megan Fox and Charlyne Yi), one of whom is stealing.

The humor is pretty raunchy, although as with other Apatow flicks sex is more discussed than performed. Many scenes end up feeling more icky than amusing – as when Pete goes spread-eagle and insists Debbie inspect a growth in his… um, nethers.

There are some funny moments in “This Is 40,” but what there is tends to be clustered toward the beginning. Until Apatow learns how to get a grasp on story structure, his movies will continue to wallow in self-indulgence.

1.5 stars out of four

Bonus review: "Paper Heart"

Charlyne Yi is one of the those people you're probably vaguely aware of. She's a young (23) stand-up comedienne who's appeared in small parts in a few movies and TV shows, including as "one of the guys" in "Knocked Up." She's small, cute but disheveled, with a penchant for wearing pulled-up hoodies and flyaway hair drooping over her thick black-framed glasses.

Most distinctive is her way of talking, which comes out in a rushed stammer, like the very act of conversing is mortally embarrassing for her. If you've seen any of her stand-up, you know that the painfully shy persona is part of her act. Similarly, her first major film role in the quasi-documentary "Paper Heart" leaves us unsure where truth ends and play-acting begins.

It's difficult to say if "Paper Heart" should be called a mockumentary. Those films, like "Spinal Tap," feature made-up characters and events in order to spoof a particular slice of society. But "Paper Heart" is full of real people, using their real names.

Yi obviously uses her own moniker and persona. The film is about her belief that there's no such thing as love, or at least that she is incapable of it. Perhaps not surprisingly, early in the filming process she stumbles backward into a relationship with Michael Cera, the actor, using his own name and (we think) persona. Complicating matters further, we learn that Cera and Yi were once in a relationship in real life -- although, since this film purports (at least on the surface) to be their real lives, we don't know if what we're seeing is the actual substance of their romance, or some bastardized version served up for the movie.

If I were to guess, I'd bet on the latter. The notion that this whole piece is not a document of reality but an opportunity for clever comedy is further bolstered by the fact that the director of the film, Nicolas Jasenovec, is the third principle character in "Paper Heart" -- but he's played by an actor, Jake M. Johnson.

Most of the movie consists of Yi and Jasenovec (or his on-screen doppelganger, at least) traveling around the country, talking to people about love. There are a number of interviews with older couples who have been together for 30, 40, 50 years or more, and they share the stories of their meeting and romance.

One of the interviews is with a divorce court judge in Texas, with his wife who is an attorney he met on the job, who admits that he pressured his wife's boss to make her go out with him or lose her job. Yi conducts the interview in the courtroom, with the judge on his seat (but wearing a leather jacket instead of his robes) and his wife in the witness chair. This is where the film is at it's best, where we're stuck in this zone that's vaguely icky and uncomfortable, but also with heart-warming notes; the strange combination ends up inducing chuckles at the absurdity of it.

But most of the movie is concentrated on Yi and her relationships with Cera and the director, and at times it gets rather slow and draggy. I have to admit that part of my frustration with these sections was centered on Yi herself -- like Woody Allen, her on-screen shtick gets old in large servings. I never really connected to her, whether she's playing a character or herself, because either way it felt like a put-on. At least the movie didn't wander into obvious territory, with the director realizing that he's in love with his subject.

The live-action scenes are interspersed with nifty animated segments using crude cut-out figures and dioramas, with Yi as the puppeteer. The final one of these, which closes the film, is quite funny without really adding up to much. That's pretty much how I feel about the whole of "Paper Heart."

2.5 stars