Why do we laugh at Adam Sandler? Few would argue that his humor is witty or ironic. Sandler’s past films have been formulaic and almost indiscernible from one another.
They center around an idiot man-child (Sandler) who must overcome some sort of obstacle – usually his own profound stupidity – and get the girl. Meanwhile he teaches his mostly adolescent audience a ham-fisted lesson about responsibility and perseverance.
We laugh because we are uncomfortable. We laugh because in the face of Sandler’s absurd tantrums there is nothing else to do.
With last year’s “Punch Drunk Love,” Sandler took a leap forward. Paul Thomas Anderson drew from Sandler the psycho within, the wellspring from which Sandler’s comedy originates. Sandler unwittingly gave the best performance of his career by simply acting like a maladjusted sociopath. If “Punch Drunk Love” was a leap forward, “Anger Management,” directed by Peter Segal, is a step back – but not too far back.
Dave Buznik (Sandler) is a shy, mumbling, speed bump of a person. His boss walks on him, and he can’t kiss his girlfriend in public because of an embarrassing incident in his past with a childhood bully. To fill out the sketch of this pathetic man, he is also plagued with the realization that his girlfriend’s best friend and former boyfriend has a larger reproductive organ than he does.
A misunderstanding with a flight attendant lands him in anger management therapy where he is to be counseled by Dr. Buddy Rydell (Jack Nicholson). In a plot move which is highly unlikely and heavily contrived, Rydell moves into Buznik’s apartment and begins to dominate his life.
The movie stands on Nicholson’s back. As with Sandler, there is a violent undercurrent of madness which flows through Nicholson. Nicholson’s talent as an actor is partially his ability to channel and direct this madness. He is able to will it into being and shape it as he pleases. Segal seems to have intuited this, because a great deal of the film is spent on tightly framed close-ups of Nicholson and Sandler as they exchange their lines.
In one of these scenes, Nicholson stops the car in the middle of rush hour traffic and refuses to move until Sandler joins him in a sing-a-long of “I Feel Pretty.” As they sing, passers-by shout obscenities at them from the windows of their moving cars. This scene exemplifies the mildly disturbing humor that the two are able to create.
Buznik’s unstable personality is revealed subtly. When a stressful situation occurs, the camera points at his foot as it taps nervously on the floor. This has the advantage of relieving Sandler from some of the more difficult aspects of acting. We are spared the self-consciously endearing, mumbling, imbecile routine that usually shapes Sandler’s characters.
The film is packed with cameos, a standard in the Sandler-comedy formula. John C. Reilly, Woody Harrelson and Rudolph Giuliani are just a few of the surprise players in the film. The dreaded Heather Graham makes an appearance and manages to befoul a simple role that could have been humorous. John Turturro nearly steals the show in his role as Chuck, an out-of-control anger addict.
Despite the colorful cast and the interaction between Sandler and Nicholson, the film seems to drag in some spots. The pace isn’t set very well, and Segal’s ability to control the narrative arch of the film is lacking.
Another particularly obnoxious aspect of the film is the sickeningly obvious product placement. At least three establishing shots open with an Army billboard that hangs above Dave Buznik’s apartment. Some scenes almost seem to be written as advertisements for a certain vehicle, which will remain nameless in this review.
If this can be overlooked – and it should not – one might be able to ignore the saccharine ending and walk away from this movie satisfied simply to see Nicholson and Sandler sharing mental meltdowns on the big screen. For most, this just won’t be enough. The movie flounders with the weight of its weaknesses.
