Some movies appear to exist solely to showcase certain personalities,
some of whom, in addition to appearing in the work, sometimes also exercise
some control over or possess some financial interest in the production itself.
Whether that fact explains the existence of The
Break-Up remains debatable, or perhaps unknowable. But the credits list one
of its two stars, Vince Vaughn, as a producer and one of the contributors of
the original story, which certainly suggests something beyond art for the sake
of art.
The movie itself looks like the sort of pseudo-hip trivia
dreamed up by a team of Hollywood
scriptwriters attempting their own version of Woody Allen, a somewhat fatigued
version of traditional romantic comedy that actually resembles an inflated
television show. It depends upon just enough plot and people, and the sort of
flat, unchanging characters that provide the familiar substance of so many TV
comedies, including Friends, the one
that propelled the female lead of The
Break-Up, Jennifer Aniston, to stardom. More important, many of its scenes
and much of its dialogue depend upon the kind of small-screen, sitcom
imagination that dominates the gags and jokes.
The situation grows out of the now classic and frequently
repeated Neil Simon formula of the odd couple, in this case Gary (Vaughn) and
Brooke (Aniston), who live together in a roomy condo in a pleasant Chicago neighborhood.
With his two brothers, Gary
runs a tour bus company — he rides the upper deck, performing a rapid spiel
full of jokes and wisecracks for the delighted tourists, demonstrating the gift
of gab that enabled him to meet Brooke in the first place. His girlfriend, on
the other hand, works in an elegant upscale art gallery, selling expensive
paintings to wealthy clients and obeying the whims of a demanding, narcissistic
boss.
The only surprise in the couple’s separation, which occurs
quite early in the picture, involves their being together at all. The movie
supplies no good reason for this pleasant, attractive, intelligent, moderately
cultured young woman to love this dumb, porky, garrulous, self-involved slob whose major recreation appears to consist of
sprawling on the couch watching TV or playing video games. Their split,
initially sparked by his failure to contribute anything to help her with a
dinner party or anything else, seems inevitable.
Most of the movie displays
the juvenile, occasionally comic hostilities between the ex-couple — dividing
the apartment into separate zones, excluding each other from their regular
circle of activities, embarrassing each other in front of their friends, and,
of course, seeing other people. On the advice of her friends, Brooke dates a
couple of losers, while Gary
hosts a wild strip poker party in the living room. In one of the several
instances of an idea that goes nowhere, Brooke undergoes a drastic waxing —
her boss calls it the “TellySavalas,”
which should give you the idea — and walks naked through the living room. The
writers apparently intended the scene to precipitate any number of reactions in
Gary, but
actually results in nothing at all, and means nothing at all.
The rest of the movie alternates between the increasingly
uninteresting separate lives of the two as they undergo the pain of the split.
Much of the action and dialogue again employ the perfunctory approach of a
television show, with scenes constructed mostly around two people talking and
talking, building an easy gag, making a quick point, with no logical follow
through. When the break-up that occupies the center of all the action becomes
final, it seems none too soon, but at the same time as purposeless as its first
moments.
Except perhaps for Judy Davis as Brooke’s boss in the art
gallery, none of the actors, including the principals, achieves anything like
success in their roles. No longer Sandburg’s city of big shoulders, Chicago these days
appears the city of big bellies, with the corpulent Vaughn, Jon Favreau, and Vincent D’Onofrio
all occupying large areas of the screen. Whatever their differences, movies
like Annie Hall, Manhattan, and even When
Harry Met Sally (which The Break-Up resembles or even copies) show that some real wit and poignancy accompany their
subject, and that whatever their merits, Chicagoans are considerably fatter
than New Yorkers
The Break-Up (PG-13), directed by Peyton Reed, is playing at
Culver Ridge 16, Pittsford, Henrietta 18, Webster 12, Tinseltown,
Greece Ridge 12, and Eastview 13.
This article appears in Jun 7-13, 2006.
