I know his films veered too often into dangerously saccharine layers of sentiment, but by and large I've been able to avoid them. I'm a smart viewer and I know my limits, which is why Jack somehow mysteriously failed to make it onto my list for the 31 Days challenge. When Williams played darker, though, that was when things got interesting - I have a soft spot for Death to Smoochy that all the reasoned critique in the world can't alter, and even writing the title makes me want to watch it again in time for Christmas.
My favourite Robin Williams film, however? One Hour Photo, with no need for me to stop and think before responding. Granted, credit has to be given to director Mark Romanek and cinematographer Jeff Cronenweth for creating some of the most atmospheric backdrops of the noughties, but it's Williams' heartbreaking but restrained performance as photo lab operator Seymour Parrish that lends the movie its quietly shattered soul. It's probably not one I'd watch again, but why would I need to? It's stayed with me for a long time now, and I suspect it always will.
So, we've established that I like my Robin Williams movies dark. When I read, therefore, that he'd been involved in World's Greatest Dad, a Bobcat Goldthwait comedy, it seemed like a match made in, well, not heaven, but somewhere that's a lot of fun to be. Goldthwait has a history of nudging at the boundaries of taste and decency, and I couldn't help but be excited at the glorious nastiness that was to follow. The plot was promising, too - teenage boy dies whilst masturbating; father disguises this as suicide, fakes his journal and becomes a local hero - and I found myself wondering once again where this movie had been all my life.
The good
I loved the last few scenes. I mean, I really, really loved the last few scenes, where the cinematography, the soundtrack, the scripting and Williams' performance combined to pack a tremendously satisfying emotional punch.Problem being, it was preceded by...
The bad
Honestly, I've been thinking about this one for the better part of a day now and I'm still stuck for what to say - can the last ten minutes compensate for the 90 or so that went before? The temptation is just to refer you to Roger Ebert's review, which expresses my feelings more or less exactly, not to mention a lot more elegantly than I ever could.What we have here is the dark and rotten core of a truly nasty black comedy buried deep within layer upon layer of Williams' trademark schmaltz. It felt to me that somebody couldn't decide whether the film was intended as a satire or a drama, and consequently, it frustrates on both levels.
This isn't Williams' fault. He keeps it low-key and naturalistic as failing poetry teacher Lance Clayton, creating a genuinely likeable character, if not quite so likeable as the slightly intrusive alt-rock soundtrack wants us to think. I don't think blame lies with any of the actors, in fact - former Spy Kid Daryl Sabara is suitably loathsome as Clayton's soon-to-be-deceased son Kyle, but imbues him with a slight edge of unhappiness that never allows us to forget this is a real human being we're watching.
This is sort of the problem, though; it's hard to enjoy what happens when the main players are so relatively well-rounded - how can we be amused by Kyle's demise when we have to watch a prolonged sequence with his father cradling his corpse and sobbing in anguish? The only character I felt truly worked within the genre was Alexie Gilmore as fickle teacher Miss Reed, a human moth drawn inexorably and erotically to the most poetic male in the vicinity.
Possibly the film's biggest misstep, however, is to name a minor character Heather. It might make sense for a dark comedy about teen suicide to pay homage to Heathers, but the minute I heard the character's name I received a vivid reminder of something I'd much rather have been watching instead.
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