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Squandered Opportunities
The banner of artistic freedom wrought by Adam Sandler's
wealth, Happy Madison Productions, has yet to make a decent
movie. Its biggest success (measured by total gross over production
cost) is The Master of Disguise—a movie indicative
of the key problem with the Happy Madison philosophy. They
take an incisive comedian like Dana Carvey (see
"The Dana Carvey Show") and shovel him into
a juvenile movie that handcuffs him from producing the smart
satire we loved on "Saturday Night Live." (The highlights
of Disguise are Carvey's George W. Bush using kung-fu
to rescue the Constitution and Jesse Ventura proclaiming that
the plastic Jesse figurine is "an action figure, not
a doll!") Or take The Adventures of Joe Dirt,
which could have been a bittersweet comedy at the intersection
of heartbreak and guitar rock (spiced by a sleazy exploitation
take from Dennis Miller), but ended up selling itself to the
Rob Schneider crowd.
Sandler's popularity presents a production paradox: The appeal
of his poop joke and punishment humor used to be its offensiveness,
but as Sandler has become a mainstream icon, he feels the
need to artificially inject romance and sentiment into movies
to expand his audience—why else borrow a Capra premise
to make John Tuturro wears google eyes? Recent Sandler fare
lacks the vitality of his Farley-supported features like Billy
Madison. The cliché fits: Sandler has lost his
edge, and with Happy Madison Productions, he's muted followers
Carvey and Spade.
That's too bad, because the problem with Dickie Roberts:
Former Child Star is that its goldmine premise is sweetened
into sentiment. Dickie (David Spade) is a former child star
whose adult life is a quagmire of self-doubt; as he tells
Leif Garrett, Danny Bonaduce, Dustin Diamond, et al, at the
weekly FCS poker game, "I miss the love." This should
be an opportunity for cultural satire; with skilled direction,
the polarized highs and lows offer opportunity for intimate,
intense character study. Of course, this is not what we ask
of a David Spade movie, but if Dickie Roberts had,
in the least, resisted the easy jokes and force-fed sap, then
it might have elevated itself above any Happy Madison production
to date.
Expectedly, the jokes stem directly from either Spade's shtick
(screaming, "I'll take Brendan Frazer to block!"
at George of the Jungle) or the Creativity Department at Happy
Madison (Wesson Oil + Slide and Slide = Concussion). As usual,
it's hit or miss: Dickie converting a tree house into a Disco
Inferno, funny; Dickie in a stroller calling Edie McClurg
fat, not so much. Some of the cameos are amusing: There's
no harm in Tom Arnold hitting on chicks at an Alcoholics Anonymous
meeting, or Jon Lovitz donating a kidney to Rob Reiner.
But these nuggets of fun are offset by disconcerting, maudlin
moments with Dickie and his adoptive family. Without character
consistently, the high-concept flies right over us. Dickie's
character arc has so many gaps that its resolution asks for
cynicism. If this movie had been controlled into satire rather
than farce, then the absurdly mawkish moments might have served
a sublime purpose: We, the Hollywood audience, cheer for Dickey
to have the sort of happy ending known only on television
and in movies. These moments sicken the audience, thus spinning
Dickie's pain back onto us: How is Dickie supposed to know
what love is when his childhood was a farce of artificial
affection—for which he was quite loved for by us?
If Sandler and Happy Madison Production had any guts—and
by guts I don't mean hitting Peter Gallagher in the face with
a tennis ball—they would have darkened the film just
a bit and challenged the audience. But Sandler disrespects
himself and his audience, so he continually hires directors
who are unconcerned by tonal mess.
Exemplifying the disappointment of Dickie Roberts is
the waste of Spade's sharp "Hollywood Minute" jabs
at the industry. Much pain is taken to establish that Rob
Reiner actually still cares about his movies—which, of
course, points to the problem with recent Reiner: insulting
saccharine romance wrought by lazy scripts. In fact, Dicke's
audition script sounds like a parody of Reiner schlock.
Or the Former Child Star card game that's a riff on the TV
stars poker lesson from Ocean's 11: "I really
don't get George Clooney," says Barry Williams. "What's
the deal with Brad Pitt?" asks Corey Feldman.
But even more amazing is a scene at the little girl's elementary
school spirit squad audition. Before Sally, some fifth grader—midriff
bare, lots of make-up and glitter, and skirt hiked almost
up to her buttocks—does a pelvic-gyrating, self-fondling,
sex tease. Which goes on for well over a minute. This scene
potentially has several layers: A satirical jab at the philosophy
of American Beauty, a deconstruction of the Britney
Spears marketing machine, a literalized extension of the repulsive
Olsen Twins phenomena, and even for Dickie Roberts himself,
a picture of his little sister of child stardom exploitation.
What's better is that the scene is so offensive, so repulsive,
yet it feels so inevitable that the audience is forced to
confront it emotionally. Spade's power comes from his willingness
to openly attack cultural targets on their basest levels,
and this single scene could have been Spade's defining moment:
Insulting Hollywood and the audience's complicitness in fantasizing
about fucking little girls. Instead, the joke merely threatens
to strike its fangs, and then slithers harmlessly away.
As I see it, there are two solutions to fixing Dickie
Roberts. One, let Rob Reiner actually direct the movie
as a parody of Misery, with Dickie wrecking his car
on the way to meet his adoptive family, starring Edie McClurg
in the Kathy Bates role. The second option is for Happy Madison
Productions to actually take a risk and talk Paul Thomas Anderson
into directing the movie. Not only is Sandler squandering
the critical credibility earned by Punch Drunk Love,
his complacent offerings of Deuce Bigalow derivatives
are not expanding his audience.
This is my idea: Let Anderson direct Dickie Roberts as
if Dickie (still played by Spade) is the whiz-kid on the game
show in Magnolia (You remember: The one who was so
distraught that he peed his pants onstage). P.T. clearly understands
the Sandlerian deconstruction, and the Former Child Star milieu
has a sort of fringe-pop, Boogie Nights quality. The
same sort of self-doubt, self-loathing we saw from Sandler
lurks inside of Spade ("Just Shoot Me" often seems
like a plea to do just that), which is screaming to be let
out. If Anderson could color the Sandler humor with the smarm
of Boogie Nights, the Joe Dirt crowd would show
for the opening weekend, but the critics would be forced to
come onboard, extending the film's theater life. And most
importantly, if the film were good, Happy Madison Productions
could puncture its image as an assembly line of high-concept
"comedies."
This is the sort of direction David Spade needs. David Spade
doesn't need to let his props (hair seems too large a part
of his characters) do his acting for him. He needs the guidance
of a real director, someone to escort him consciously through
the layers of his personality. P.T. Anderson would film in
the shadows of Spade, as with the darkened profile of Adam
Sandler on the DVD cover of Punch Drunk Love. Barry
Egan's tire iron is the shadow of Billy Madison's golf club;
perhaps Dickie Roberts' lost celebrity is the shadow of bitterness
felt in "The Hollywood Minute" or "Spade in
America." As it stands, Dickie Roberts: Former Child
Star is a disappointing and unnecessary pander to the
Hot Chick crowd, squandering the opportunity to create
something bitingly funny and universally human from a pop
culture archetype.
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