If any of you caught the Golden Globes last weekend, you possibly had the pleasure of a more humble, apparently aging Jack Nicholson graciously receiving his Best Actor award for carrying the unwieldy “About Schmidt” kicking and screaming out of obscurity. He deserved it. The film didn’t.
“About Schmidt,” the sometimes poignant but mostly irritating story of Warren and his quest to find meaning in life after 60, has, at wishy-washy end, pretty much nothing going for it other than Jack’s career-redefining performance.
Nicholson (“As Good As It Gets”) delivers in a role he wasn’t just born to play: he’s worked his entire career (and life) in creating Warren Schmidt. Too bad the film itself wasn’t so well planned and utilized.
Filmmaker Alexander Payne calmly asks his audience to be patient. Just be patient. Here’s a great performance by one of America’s most respected actors. Something else of value will happen. It’s coming; I promise. But nothing happens.
Payne (1999’s wonderful “Election”) spends most of his considerable talent painting a darkly comedic world for Schmidt to wander around in. The film ultimately fails, though, when Payne’s world ceases to add anything to the overall story.
Payne (who co-adapted “Schmidt” from the novel) couples Warren’s antics after his wife’s death and his daughter’s engagement with wacky settings, fun camera angles, and story quirks that are pure entertainment. A Winnebago, inane bachelor life and a foster son named Ndugu are all laugh-getters throughout the film. Payne plays his cards well, while he has them. He simply runs out too soon.
The support doesn’t help much, either. As Warren finally meanders his way into the plot, the fact that he’s going to interact with other characters is frankly exciting.
“Something’s finally going to happen,” I said, gleefully. “Here’s the payoff!”
Nothing happens. No other character is interesting. No other performance is noteworthy. If Payne and the support were counting on Nicholson to carry the entire picture, he almost does it. Almost.
Give Jack every credit. Laud him with awards; he deserves them. Don’t let him fool you, though, into thinking the film itself is good. It’s not. It’s ok, maybe. At times, it even flirts with decent. More frequently, though, it dances with boring and unsatisfying.
The moral: don’t you dare drive to Birmingham to see this one. Just trust me on this. If by miracle Starkville picks it up, then maybe consider it. It’s still seven bucks you could eat a nice meal on-or see something else with.