I've spent a day or two now thinking and not thinking about this film and I've come to the conclusion it's pretty meaningless. It's like one of those really great modern novels that just sort of goes poof at the end. Like if Russell Banks couldn't find an ending to a book. It's like Russell Banks lite.

The film concerns a has-been writer who is now an English professor in Pittsburgh. He's having an affair with the chancellor who informs him she's pregnant, his wife has just left him, one of his sexy female students is his boarder, and his "darkest" student has sort of latched onto him. Oh yeah, the writer also has a new novel threatening to hit 2612 pages in length and his editor is visiting in town. All of a sudden, the writer is having a pretty busy weekend.

The best part of the film concerns the writer, Grady Tripp, played by Michael Douglas, trying to make his mind fit with his newest charge, James Leer, played by the awesome Tobey Maguire. There is a wonderful sort of absurdist surrogate parent/child relationship going on between them that never ceases to be interesting. But, alas, the film fizzles when Douglas hooks up with anyone else, Frances McDormand as his mistress, Robert Downey Jr. as his editor, or Katie Holmes as his young female tenant. The damn film comes to a dead stop when Douglas is teamed with Richard Thomas (yep, John boy Walton) as McDormand's husband, Rip Torn as a more prolific and profitable novelist, Jane Adams as a pregnant waitress or Michael Cavaias as a transvestite. None of these desperate angles ever go anywhere interesting or meaningful.

I know, perhaps that's the point. Douglas' character is adrift. He smokes pot. He doesn't care about any of his relationships. He doesn't seem to really care about his novel. He doesn't know who he is or what he wants. Somehow, James Leer helps him figure it out. But for the life of me, I can't figure out exactly how. Director Curtis Hanson doesn't do anything wrong. The actors all do interesting work. The characters have potential. But it just never seemed to gel for me.

Douglas' Tripp has to give up pot and become a family man in the film's end for Hollywood to be happy, so he does. But it never seems like what the character would truly do. It just seems like what he "should" do. I don't know. I didn't get it.

I think this would be a great novel. But as a film, it tries to do too much. It doesn't go all over the place, it fits pretty well. But maybe it shouldn't tie itself up so neatly at the end. It goes exactly where we expect it to go. This interesting and unique ride becomes formulaic. Yes, again, I know that's the point. But it's like a carefully cut slab of Jell-o; It holds it's shape, it's consistent and flavorful and colorful. It's does exactly what we demand of it. But in the end, it's just Jell-o. Nothing more or less.

Note:

Script by Steve Kloves based on the Michael Chabon novel.

With pop songs by Bob Dylan, Leonard Cohen, Neil Young. Original music by Christopher Young.

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