borality

First of all, how about that title? Ironic, no? Witty, huh? A movie CALLED Happiness that in fact contains little or no happiness. This is mind-boggling in its complexity and ingenuity, right? (And one of the character's names is Joy! Brilliant!) Not really. --Just like the happy, whimsical music that plays throughout the film's soundtrack, we're supposed to either be shocked and sickened by the contrast between the music and the on-screen action, be introduced to new and vertiginous depths of film-making irony--i.e., isn't the music supposed to reflect the action? What's going on? This isn't a happy scene, why the happy music? Either this, or where we just kind of laugh along because we're in on the joke, we know what's going on, we're supposed to laugh, this is a COMEDY. But, well, which is it?

Even Solondz, we get the impression, doesn't really know. He makes a grand show of pulling no punches; after all, doesn't this movie have everything even remotely icky? From divorce to suicide, from unhealthy obsession to rape-fantasies, from masturbation to homosexual intolerance, from loneliness to rape to obesity to murder and mutilation and body-parts-in-freezer, from pedophiles to serial rapists to gun-massacre daydreamers to spaced-out psychologists (hey! why not all in one character!), Happiness certainly appears to run the gamut. Maybe that's part of the problem: Solondz has tried putting everything in this movie, every classically cliched, ostensibly gut-wrenching human ugliness to ever touch paper or filmstock. But to what end, to what effect? We're not even given a chance to suffer from any desensitization-guilt, because we've been cold cocked by depravity overload.

The humorous aspects of this film play out like a poorly scripted SNL skit. Take the father-son discussions, which are basically Leave It To Beaver parodies as if penned by a college newspaper editor: shoulder-patting, sympathetic nods, sound fatherly advice--and the kid's asking how to 'come.' All this is missing is a laugh track. The over-the-top factor is poorly acted or poorly directed or just poor ("I'm not laughing at you, I'm laughing with you"). These attempts, unfortunately, fall short of constituting Happiness as a black comedy.

You can't in all seriousness really be shocked or mortified or disgusted by these textbook cases of unpleasantness. The closest we ever come, and only in brief flashes, is with the almost-sympathetic pedophile character. You want to like this guy because you want to feel sympathy for a pedophile rapist because THAT, indeed, would be shocking. And we want nothing more than to be shocked, to oblige Solondz, to recognize and appreciate all his efforts. Unfortunately, it's just not possible. We could have been treated to a darkly disturbing, if perhaps formulaic and manipulative, film, or a goofy, over-the-top, laugh-out-loud (maybe I'm being generous) black comedy of a flick. But we're left with neither. But do me a favor, huh? Don't call it It's a Wonderful Life, or something.

From the first five minutes on, I kept shielding my eyes, throwing things, and swearing out of embarrassment for the actors, but especially for the writer/director John Waters. This was like a poorly-written, drawn-out, poorly-directed 90-minute Saturday night Live skit. Boring, transparent, novice, and trite.