opens, uncharacteristically, on a woman landing with a horrible crunch on the hood of a passing car. Then its back to form as the movie threads its way to and fro across 20 years of classically Roosian neuroses sexually ambiguous and perpetually perplexed men and women behaving badly while searching for love before looping back to the same event. By rights, this sprawling dramedy about 10 lost Angelenos connected by uneasy pairings shouldnt work at all, except perhaps in prime time: More than once, I felt as though I were watching a distended, polysexual episode ofFriends
Formal economy has never been a priority with Roos, a natural screenwriter whose best work, next to his directorial debutThe Opposite of Sex
(1998), was the unfairly neglectedLove Field
(1992), with Michelle Pfeiffer as a housewife madly longing to be Jackie Kennedy, and the exuberantBoys on the Side
, whose title refers archly to both life and massages that go all the way, is untidy and ungainly. At 130 minutes, its too long by at least half an hour, afflicted with breezy, slick and largely superfluous intertitles, and could easily lose four of its characters oddly enough, coming from a cheerfully uncloseted filmmaker, its the homosexuals who seem planted expressly for the sake of some trite running jokes about control-freak lesbians, unfaithful gay men and super-sperm babies.
The movie is also, likeThe Opposite of Sex
, a warm and vital homage to urban cluelessness, to the way we sorry excuses for adults displace our buried sorrows onto those we claim to cherish. Roos is good with actors, andHappy Endings
has some striking performances, notably from Tom Arnold as a sweet but gullible single dad whos a sitting target for predatory young nymphs, Maggie Gyllenhaal as a drily understated predatory nymph from hell, and Bobby Cannavale as a masseur who prides himself on giving just that little extra. But its Lisa Kudrow the unlikely muse whose natural reserve Roos so skillfully teased out inThe Opposite of Sex
who sits at the heart of the movie, radiating uptight loneliness. Kudrow plays Mamie (or Mammie, as her secret lover, with inadvertent significance, pronounces it), a cripplingly ambivalent abortion-clinic therapist haunted by her own teenage pregnancy and unaccountably drawn to the young stud (Jesse Bradford) whos openly, if ineptly, blackmailing her. Blackmail emotional, financial, you name it is the currency by which this sorry crew screw each other over and, in trying to make amends, they often make matters much worse.
Roos is primarily an entertainer with a common touch, whose sensibility may always remain more soap than opera. Yet hes canny and wise about the big fat mess that is love and family today (at least in L.A.), and his movies are rarely about anything so bland as flawed people. He understands that people, on some very basic and needy level, are all apt to behave like assholes, especially when looking for love, and that because (rather than in spite) of that, we deserve his acid affection. When all is said and done, Roos treats his characters and his audience to an unblushingly sentimental, conciliatory ending of the kind that ordinarily makes me feel as though Im being played for a sucker. I wept on demand and went home happy.
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| Written and directed by DON ROOS | Produced by HOLLY WIERSMA and MICHAEL PASEORNEK | Released by Lions Gate Films | At Playhouse 7, Sunset 5 and Town Center 5