Flirting with Disaster
An odd little bird of a movie — one that, in retrospect, kicked off a fairly solid career for David O. Russell, and one littered with great performances from beloved actors. And yet it seems to have barely any cultural footprint at all. Perhaps that's because its star shines less obviously bright here than in the other Ben Stiller vehicles that made him famous; perhaps it's because it mostly stars people you laugh at but do not like.
Flirting with Disaster works very, very well when you examine it through its screwball sensibility. Russell strikes a fascinating balance with this script: almost every single line read is delivered in a mostly naturalistic way. Nobody is playing a cartoon character. These are real, genuine — albeit silly and ridiculous — adults.
But the off-screen action, the camera movement, and the editing almost serve to undermine them. Take Richard Jenkins, absolutely playing his pants off, getting passed between two cars in a long-running bit about him being the fifth wheel.
Which is not to say that the naturalism makes the film unfunny. I laughed more than I was expecting to — but the laughs often came from a place of realism, like Mel's parents going back and forth about the car, or just about any scene with Mary Tyler Moore.
Part of the real joy of watching it was not knowing whether a line would be played straight or for laughs, even though both ended up serving the same end. The movie never has much in the way of serious tension or suspense, but the final act — Mel's parents showing up to save (or sabotage) the day, the smash cut, and the immediate turnaround — single-handedly raised my estimation of not just the script but the film as a whole.
So: a great script, a wonderful plot, and a then-modern take on screwball comedy, a genre for which I have a very soft spot. And it's filled with extremely great performances from actors I love — I haven't even mentioned Alan Alda and Lily Tomlin, playing husband and wife. As if things could get any better!
So why haven't I decided that I actually like it?
I think it ultimately comes down to the fact that Ben Stiller's character fucking sucks. I know this is not an interesting or trenchant critique. One interesting dynamic of older films is that we tend to otherize their characters, viewing them through a different lens than we would a contemporary protagonist — even decades later.
But Mel is the father of a literal four-month-old whom he spends maybe five seconds of the film holding or addressing, and he is mostly disinterested in his wife compared to the wiles of Téa Leoni.
For every note that lampshades the fact that yes, we know this guy is a scumbag, there's another that attempts to slightly humanize or redeem him. And so where I had difficulty — right up until the final act — was not being sure how seriously I should take this film and its foibles.
Screwball comedies tend to involve at least one relatively well-meaning character. By the end of this one, the closest thing we have to heroes are Mel's parents: played initially for one-dimensional laughs, they end up saving the day, acting only in service of protecting and rescuing their son.
(This all got a little more serious than intended.)
This is a good, funny film. There are moments of broad screwball comedy, and there's also some great, dry wit. You get to see two actors I tend to think of in a much older mode — Josh Brolin and Patricia Arquette — playing young, attractive, exciting people.
You won't have a bad time with this movie. Just don't spend any time at all caring about these people, because it might distract you from the jokes.