No One Takes a Photo of Something They Want to Forget!

(Title courtesy the lulzy One-Hour Photo - maybe one of these days I'll compile these idiotic quotes)


Forgetting Sarah Marshall (2008)

Rating ... C+ (50)

Are the Judd Apatow troop's sensibilities too crowd-pleasing for their own good? When they stormed onto the scene in 2005 with lurid, blatantly attention-grabbing conceits about an above averagely old virgin and somehow managed to retain folks' attention and appreciation beyond the premise in spite of the film's swerve into less raucous and reasonably nuanced exploration of modern-man issues, a formula was codified. Three years and three movies later, with little discernable variation on a film-to-film basis - arguably due to their firm grasp of popular support - one has to wonder if the guys will ever decide to change their act.

In Apatow's favor, the simplest counter is probably "Why bother?" Even to the scattered naysayers, the appeal is obvious. Aside from the ribald humor (something adults can enjoy, see) his movies are still the cleverest artifice guys ever pulled for those moments of multiplex decision-making; what we have here is inherently masculine territory with a sensitive underbelly for gals seeking a fair and equal rom-com, even though under scrutiny the films protect, assuage, and overall throw bones for their central, male protagonists at nearly every angle. By this point it's simply understood that unexceptional, lazy guys will inevitably hook up with attractive women but in the case of Forgetting Sarah Marshall somebody upped the ante. Not only does our hero write awesome, unappreciated music, the film applauds his pathetic oversensitivity, and when his two romantic entanglements go awry, on both occasions the films deems the breakup the fault of the women. (When Sarah Marshall leaves him for a flaky pop singer, annoyed at his persistent self-pity, he's been abused and later she has to pine to regain his affections; also, after he meets a Hawaiian native named Rachel on a getaway vacation but fools around with Sarah during their relationship, he's supposed to be in the clear for declining the offer mid-BJ - I mean DAYAM WOMAN, what will power, gosh.)

Like the group's movies before it, Forgetting Sarah Marshall is made with some undeniable comedic prowess and leisurely affability as a welcome complement (I recommend the dinner table discussion of a movie that eeriely resembles One Missed Call as the film's finest example, where the superb Russell Brand declares narratives too liberal with subtext to be "a metaphor for a crap movie") but along the way no member of the team seems to have picked up the ability to refrain demonstrating ideas and concepts that are already apparent, if not entirely explicit. Sarah Marshall works for an amusing C.S.I. Miami type show - evident from the first scene with Baldwin in the Caruso role and the offhand sunglasses maneuver - but later it's made exceedingly clear what's being spoofed. The hand-holding continues through explanations about the awesomeness of sex, pearl necklaces, and likenings of the hero's plight to Dracula, while the film also falters with unfunny reoccurrences like a couple of sexually inexperienced southern Baptists and lilting non-sequiturs, the most glaring of which is easily a baffling, unwarranted flashback that assures audiences our man wore sweatpants for a week, located promptly after a simple admission of such. To be sure, at more serious intervals Forgetting Sarah Marshall understands the susceptibility that often accompanies a romantic fallout, but next time its purveyors might exert less effort in making sure we understand too.