movie review: Punch-Drunk Love

Punch-Drunk Love is a fascinating film, full of contradiction and nuance. Because the star is Adam Sandler, and his character is not unlike many other Sandler characters, it is very much an Adam Sandler movie, yet at the same time, it very much isn't -- filmmaker Paul Thomas Anderson, a master at creating and developing interesting, three-dimensional characters, has taken the Sandler persona, and used this script to delve into the character's psyche. We are not spoon-fed any Freudian explanations, but we sense, through Sandler's interactions with his employees, sisters, and acquaintances, how he came to be the way he is, and with our understanding, comes empathy. Roger Ebert, by no means a Sandler fan, felt that Punch-Drunk Love was the key to understanding and even appreciating Sandler's other films, and while I think that evaluation goes too far, I can at least see where Mr. Ebert is coming from when he makes that statement.

As Barry Egan, the central character of the film, Sandler portrays a character whose moments of rage and violence (never directed at a human being except in self-defense, by the way) punctuate a gentle and kind soul. The character has similarities, both in detail and theme, to Sandler's character in Anger Management, although that film goes for laughs while this film goes for poignancy. The two movies would make an interesting double bill for film students.

Punch-Drunk Love doesn't show us much of Barry's life outside of the central narrative, but it shows -- or sometimes just hints at -- just enough of it for us to understand that he is a lonely, shy, well-meaning young man. If he has problems with anger or depression, it is only because his constant attempts to please people -- even people who clearly don't deserve it -- are too often unappreciated, and if he has problems with honesty, it's only because he needs to learn to like and trust himself more than he does. The dishonesty he sometimes exhibits, sometimes for seemingly very little reason, aren't intended as hurtful or self-serving, but as a mask to hide behind. Watching this movie, I wanted him to realize that he doesn't need the mask, to learn that his love interest, played effectively by Emily Watson, is attracted to him not despite the glimpses of Barry's true self, but because of them.

Narratively, this movie is a conundrum, because it tells the simultaneous stories of how Barry's life -- so completely rooted in mundanity and routine -- begins to both completely fall apart, and yet, simultaneously, finally start to come together. You get the sense that if he can manage to survive the series of misadventures that happenstance throws his way, he will emerge a better, stronger person. Only a character like Barry -- written by a screenwriter with imagination, love, and wit -- can get away with not only saying "I'm a nice guy" as he's preparing to beat the s*** out of someone, but also making us believe it. Note that I'm not just saying that we believe his sincerity, I'm saying that we agree with him. Barry is a indeed a nice guy who has been pushed too far.

Now, you may have read this far, and find yourself asking, "yes, all of this sounds good, but you still haven't told us anything about what actually happens in the movie!" And my response, not out of laziness, is that if you want to know what actually happens, there are other places online to find out plot points. In my mind, Punch-Drunk Love is not about plot detail, it's about character, style, and tone. The character of Barry Egan is so fully fleshed out that the incidents that happen to him are just that -- incidental. Writer P.T. Anderson probably could have chosen any number of alternate misadventures for Barry, but his grasp of the character is so strong, the results probably would have been just as good. So yes, I'm being vague. I don't want to ruin the sense of discovery you'll enjoy while watching this movie. The vagueness (if that's even a word) of this review is somehow fitting for the film, and all I can say is that you have to trust me. Trust my recommendation. This is one movie so beautiful, so smart, that it deserves your leap of faith.

*Note: I wish I could end on that positive note, but one final comment, however parenthetical, must be made. Jon Brion is credited as the film's composer, a credit which does disservice to the late, great songwriter Harry Nilsson, whose love song "He Needs Me" (originally from the musical Popeye) is at the heart of the film score. Yes, Nilsson receives a standard song-writing credit , during the song listing that is standard toward the end of the closing titles, but come on. Nearly the entire score of this film is based on the tune of "He Needs Me," which, in my mind, warrants a co-composing credit for Nilsson. I mean, Brion deserves praise for taking a single song and using it to musically illustrate an entire motion picture, but giving him sole credit is like giving Kenneth Branagh sole credit for writing Hamlet without even mentioning Shakespeare except for fine print buried within the closing titles. Alright. Now that we've got that straigtened out, go watch the movie!