dinner for schmuckkjdjkfdarghhhh
No matter what you do, there are expectations. Some people go to weddings with the idea they’ll get laid. Some people on family vacations with hope that past problems don’t rise to the surface. Some people head to movies with an idea of just what you’re about to pay ten bucks to see.
On Monday I went to see “Dinner for Schmucks,” not because I was particularly excited about the premise (to be fair, I thought it was a pretty cheesy idea), but more because of the cast. Jay Roach had the 1992 Dream Team of current comedy at his arsenal, and it seemed that even watching a few of these guys in a 90-minute burp contest would be an ab workout in itself.
It was not. Not at all. If you can find whatever the word is for “completely and absolutely devoid of comedy,” that is “Dinner for Schmucks.”
As you probably know, the basic idea is a bunch of rich guys get together once a month for a dinner where they all try to bring the biggest weirdo/idiot to make fun of. The “winner” receives some trophy, and Paul Rudd is trying to get a promotion at his job through his Schmuck-experience.
The problem is, Roach gave Rudd, one of my favorite actors alive, one of his least workable role. See, Rudd is funny when he’s the carefree asshole. Think “Knocked Up” and “Role Models” for an idea of when he’s at his best. While he is a funny guy no matter what, when Rudd plays the good guy (think “I Love You, Man”) his talents are limited. In “Dinner,” Rudd has to play the good guy to some of the other successful businessmen’s bad. He loses that “eye-rolling, I hate my life, this sucks, whatever” feel that he kills in other movies.
Then you have an onslaught of great guys. Zach Galifianakis. Jermaine Clement. Steve Carell. The guy from “Office Space.” These are all home run hitters, but in this movie, it didn’t totally work (not the best compliment when you can say out of all those guys, Clement was hands-down the funniest).
The movie draws out forever, until the climatic dinner occurs towards the end. As you expect, Carell “wins” the award for biggest loser, before getting into a pissing match that leads to a house burning down and a Swiss guy losing his finger to a buzzard (Don’t even ask).
The funniest line in the entire movie (Carell, in Clement’s apartment, notices a picture of the artist and Nelson Mandella together, and in a surprised euphoria, screams at Rudd, “He’s friends with Morgan Freeman!”) was wasted in the previews, and while most of the audience gave it the courtesy chuckle for creativity, I was left shaking my head.
I have a four LOL policy in comedies. It’s simple, really. “Did the movie make me laugh out loud four times or more?” This one didn’t. Not even once.
Maybe the only bright spot of the entire film was Stephanie Szostak (Rudd’s serious GF), who was cute and charming and made you want to squeeze her cheeks. Other than that, the only schmuck out there is the guy that wants to see this one again.
