Really nice film - to be enjoyed as just 'funny' with several good one-liners and a crazy element. At the bottom of it all there was an American-style message which will make us all better human beings (ha ha) but the finale was great FUN!
Current trends in romantic comedy appear to be polarising and, broadly speaking, the fence down the middle seems to be a division on the basis of gender. 27 Dresses, PS I Love You and Made of Honor, for example, would appear to be primarily aimed at women and it’s not hard to imagine they were tiresomely referred to as chick flicks in every marketing memo scribbled, by a male or a female. On the other hand, since The 40 Year Old Virgin in particular, and on through Knocked Up and Forgetting Sarah Marshall, there’s been a distinct and successful subset, targeted clearly at men, or perhaps even boys, but retaining most of the generic conventions of the rom-com as we knew it in the Hanks and Ryan era, and even before.
On the evidence of my six examples, however, it seems that the two camps are separated on another, eventually more important and relevant count. I’m sure it’s against many people’s expectations, but it’s the boy movies that appear to be the most emotionally sophisticated, not to mention frank, or even raw. There’s more direct and powerful emotional relevance displayed in fifteen minutes of The 40 year Old Virgin than the entirety of 27 Dresses. Forgetting Sarah Marshall definitely maintains this trend and, as such, is easily the most worthwhile representation of romantic relationships on film so far this year.
The “adult-orientated emotional complications” on display this time stem from a typically identifiable premise: a difficult break-up. Peter works on a rather daft CSI-style TV show and has been dating the show’s superstar, the titular Sarah. We begin with the end of their relationship, as Sarah leaves Peter and he’s left facing the split like a man – which is to say, with much squawking, blubbing, professional irresponsibility, a guilt-ridden one night stand, slabs of contempt and self pity.
From here on out, the plot follows a contrived scheme of farcical coincidence: first of all Peter heads off to Hawaii to get over his break up with Sarah only to find – of course – she’s there too with her new boyfriend, played by none other than our very own Russell Brand. And at they’re at the very same hotel. Later on, circumstances mean that Peter is moved into the room immediately adjacent to Sarah’s. This is the happenstance that makes Peter’s life misery; the happy coincidence comes in the form of a sweet-hearted receptionist who takes a shine to Peter with all of the expected narrative expedience. Typical machinations for rom-coms of either flavour, really, but where this film distinguishes itself is in the need to express some kind of open hearted pain and, I would like to think, genuine optimism and hope, and to do so with the kind of one-flat tyre, real-ish characterisations we know from Knocked Up and similar. Buffier readers will already note that each of the blokey rom-coms I have mentioned come from the same stable, being either directed, or in this case produced, by Judd Apatow. Not for nothing does the word Midas litter reviews of these films and I’d even be so bold as to compare Apatow to Billy Wilder, with reservations.
For US audiences, Russell Brand is likely to steal his every scene but back here in Blighty I think he might have a fight on his hands. That doesn’t mean he isn’t the funniest thing in the film, it just means we’re all rather too sick of him to admit it. Even if we stifle ourselves in Brand’s presence, however, the not-quite-so-funny funny stuff is still really very funny for the most part and may even prove infectious enough that we give over to the stealth-coutured pseudo-scruffbag before the end credits. His agent should be proud.