Directed by Doug Liman
Running time 96 mins
Certificate 15
There's an unwritten law that, every year, one of the smaller distribution houses picks up an indie film and all the critics agree that it's the best thing since Citizen Kane and everyone starts bandying the term auteur around. Of course, all this free publicity ensures that the general public has got to know about it. Now, they all start to think that it must be great, because all these critics are saying so (which, as a conclusion to reach, is fairly far of the mark). All the cool kids then have to go see this word-of-mouth miracle et Voila! a sleeper hit is born.
I don't know why this happens: maybe it's a counter-strike against big-budget movies. Maybe it's some desperate attempt by critics to claim artistic credibility by virtue of obscurantism. My personal theory is that they all go to the Sundance festival to get pissed and only manage to see one movie, which they then have to hype to the high heavens, otherwise their editors won't let them go next year.
End result: every year an indie production is thrown out into the wide world with better distribution and a few more prints than most of its contemporaries. Sometimes this pays off big-time: think Reservoir Dogs or El Mariachi or Clerks. Sometimes, however, you end up with Swingers.
Now, I'm not saying this is a bad film. Far from it. I am recommending you go. But do not expect the greatest film ever.
The core of the film is writer/actor John Favreau, playing wannabe stand-up comic Mikey. Now Mike is at that point, six months after the break-up of the most serious relationship in his life, that we in the trade refer to as the sucking chest wound stage: that is to say, the phase where you shouldn't be sat around the house, with the blinds drawn at midday, listening to Charlie Parker and reading old letters, but you're going to do it anyway. Basically, all he wants is his ex-girlfriend back, but failing that, some way out of the repetitive horrorshow that his life has become. Unfortunately, within ten minutes of meeting an interesting, attractive, intelligent woman, the topic of conversation inevitably turns to the ex, and so the odds of even a quickie get real long, real fast.
Now, you get the feeling that Favreau has some, ahem, issues that he's working out here. When he concentrates on this, the film is magnificent. Mike's first faltering steps back into relationships, from the phase where your answering machine heckles your lovelife, through catastrophic attempts to get women's numbers, right up to the beginning of a happy ending: all these are magnificently constructed, like a blend of Singles and cult TV sit-com Dream On. The film is worth the price of admission even if you only catch the two- minute phone relationship sequence.
But, at the same time, there's this sub-Diner plotline going on, about Mike's drop-out failed actor friends and their unpleasant, misogynistic techniques for picking up women. Now, if they had only been present as a counterpoint to Mike's own adventures, then it would have been fine. Unfortunately, the first half hour is a tedious road-trip to Las Vegas, where Mike and self-proclaimed hipster Trent loose a fortune on the cards, then foul up a certainty with a couple of waitresses. The problem is that we've had no experience of Mike as a sensitive guy with self-esteem issues: he's just a whining asshole. Trent, however, is a different problem. He is truly annoying. Not just for the first half hour, but all the way through the film. Yes, he may well be an accurate representation of every Dean Martin hopeful hanging around motels in Hollywood but they're probably a bunch of assholes that I would never want to meet either. Vince Vaughn does a magnificent job of this loathsome creature, but it's so successful that, every time he said the terms "hey, baby" and "you're so money", I wanted to slap him upside his over-gelled head.
The failure of the film is that it is too clever for its own good sometimes. The photography is a bit too tricky, with a jerky, in- and-out focusing technique that tries to be stylised and just comes off mannered and forced. There's also a pair of pointless cinematic references that will be very clear to you if you go: they're nicely constructed, but since the characters talk about both films concerned earlier in the film, the gags are telegraphed. It stops being Smoke and becomes UHF, if you know what I mean, and there's probably six people in the world who've seen both those movies.
However, one day Favreau will turn the world on its ear with a script of breathtaking humanity. One day, someone will make a fabulous movie about third-rate actors in Hollywood. One day, Vaughn will get an Oscar. But none of that is quite going to happen with this film. If, however, you can sit through the road trip without spitting blood, the rest of the movie is definitely worth the wait. Just eat some popcorn in the meantime.
RMW