Critic's Grade: C-

When you're watching a movie that pairs actors Jack Nicholson and Adam Sandler on the same bill, and you find yourself bored to the point of weeping, you know something's wrong with the experience. But when the only laugh in the entire film is stolen from the cast by an overweight cat dressed in a mini overcoat and beret, that's just plain sad.

With "Anger Management," director Peter Segal ("Nutty Professor II") and rookie writer David Dorfman give us an interesting premise, but the execution is sloppy beyond repair. Consider the opening moments of the film, in which mild-mannered corporate secretary Dave Buznik (Sandler), on a routine business flight, quickly becomes the center of attention after simply asking for a headset, for which he is zapped with a stun gun, and later sentenced to an anger management course. Turns out that his supervisor, Dr. Buddy Rydell (Nicholson), was his seatmate on the plane; thinking he's got a quick way out, Dave attends his first session, but Buddy has other plans.

Now I know that in certain comedies- or in any other genre, for that matter- there is a required suspension of disbelief that sometimes becomes a necessity. But the filmmakers push the envelope here, especially when it comes to Buddy's persistence in bringing out Dave's underlying anger. It was odd enough watching the stewardess (or as everyone obnoxiously refers to her in the film, "flight attendant") act like a complete ** for no apparent reason other than to meet the requirements of the script, but when it's clearly evident that Dave isn't the threat to society that everyone is making him out to be, I kept wondering why Nicholson's nutbag therapist was so anxious to move in with his latest experiment.

We need a reason for all of this. Imagine my lack of surprise when- GASP!- the ending solves the mystery for us, in exactly the same fashion as I had envisioned. The problem with the movie is that without this turn of events, it would be too unbelievable to be entertaining, but then again, it doesn't exactly work too well, either, ultimately because it is disappointingly predictable and downright lame.

This routine trip to Nowhere could easily be overlooked, however, if the stops at In and Between provided some necessary sustenance. Alas, we're stuck with a series of flat tires and broken radiators as we watch Sandler and Nicholson constantly trip over the fumblings of the desperate material. It doesn't help that the few genuine laughs have been spoiled by Columbia's advertising campaign: the sequence in which Dave and Buddy share a bed for the first time could have been a roof-raiser, had it not been the central attraction of trailers and commercials playing months in advance. On too many occasions the film is trying way too hard, using a gallery of supporting characters played by familiars faces like John Turturro and Woody Harrelson for comedic effect, but wasting them on flat-out boring roles. You can add this mess to Marisa Tomei's ever-lengthening list of clunkers: she plays Sandler's annoying girlfriend, in whom Buddy will later take an interest. And Luis Guzman in a belly shirt? What were they thinking?

In its structure, this is no different than this year's earlier box office smash "Bringing Down the House," in which two very different Hollywood faces were able to resurrect a wasteland of cliche with sheer comedic charm. But what Queen Latifah and Steve Martin possessed, Sandler and Nicholson lack immensely, and they are done a grave misjustice. What seemed to work on the surface just isn't so once you actually see the film for yourself: there's very little spark between the two, barely anything that convinces us that they have the collective energy to make their characters work as one humorous force. Sandler seems to be trying, but Nicholson looks as if he's riding along on confidence alone, a far cry from his brilliantly deep performance in last December's "About Schmidt." As much as I hate to say it, he looks as if he's too sure of himself here, like an Oscar nominee who just knows he's going to take home the gold.

This is the type of movie that people like Melvin Udall from "As Good as It Gets" would tear into with delight. Upon listening to Buddy Rydell make the comment, "Sarcasm is anger's ugly cousin," I heard Udall's voice in the back of my head saying, "People who talk in metaphors oughta shampoo my crotch." Hey, at least I got one laugh out of my seven bucks.

Copyright @ Hauntnut.com

All Reviews by David Litton [Home page]
If you are the author of this review, you may edit it by signing in.