 Big Daddy (1999) I couldn't fucking believe it. I don't think I'd ever seen an Adam Sandler movie before seeing this one, and I'm pretty sure I wasn't missing anything. In fact, it was not without a bit of "Oh well, I suppose it won't kill me to see this" that I even entered the theater, which I was only doing because American Pie was sold out and this was the only other film playing at the same time. And while I could not help but be disappointed by the fact that I would not be able to see the shenanigans of a bunch of pie-fucking teenagers, I must say that I was pleasantly surprised by Big Daddy. As prefabricated as it is, it pretty much hits all the right buttons and is helped out greatly by an understated performance by Sandler as well as a more or less appealing cast of supporting players. Much of the movie is thoroughly contrived, but at least Sandler keeps his idiot shtick down to the bare minimum and lets the movie be guided by its genuine emotional core, which is the tender relationship between Sandler and his adopted son.< Sandler plays a law-school dropout living off a large settlement from a car accident, with his life lacking structure and his relationships failing as his friends grow up and move on. After his girlfriend (Kristy Swanson, reprising her role from The Legend of Billie Jean) walks out on him and his best bud (Jon Stewart, surprisingly playing it straight, quite unlike those bootleg "solo man" videos I've seen here and there that he did while in college) decides to get married, Sandler is at his lowest point, working at a toll booth and knocking down roller-bladers on his days off. When an orphaned boy (played by Dylan and Cole Sprouse, who look so amazingly similar they must be related) shows up at his door, Sandler is given a crash course in parenting, although even by the end of the movie he is essentially using the kid as a walking pick- up line. Sure, the set-up is very forced, but the relationship that develops is very honest and believable, and for every urine joke there is a slice-of-life joke to provide some balance (i.e. when Sandler gives the boy permission to choose his own name, he chooses "Frankenstein"—and he goes by that name for at least the next half hour). Unlike the other Adam Sandler movies which I haven't seen yet feel qualified to pass judgment on, this one seems like much less of a vehicle to showcase the usual Adam Sandler character with the short fuse and the childish sense of humor. In those movies, which I have not seen yet know so much about, it seems like Sandler is put into situations where his childishness is a tool to point out hypocrisy and snobbery in so-called "mature" people, but Big Daddy is much less vanity-driven. Sandler actually plays it low-key almost throughout, and the chemistry he has with the kid is wonderful. It made me want to fuck both of them. (Audience boos wildly.) The more contrived elements of the film are designed to make Sandler seem much more appealing than he actually is, but fortunately his behavior is contextualized so that his outbursts and occasional meanness are not played off as being "right." The romantic comedy elements are, as Salt N' Pepa would say, "very unnecessary," but the presence of Joey Lauren Adams as the love interest softens the edges when it seems like things are getting too juvenile. Her entire role, however, is 100% clichéd. Also, the entire climax of the film is a shameless excuse to tie up every plot strand in one scene (a courtroom scene, no less). I admired the shamelessness, and also the half-assedness with which it was written, but I can't say that there was anything particularly honest about it. The ending, as well, which resolves a limp running gag about the Hooters restaurant chain, is a bit too feel-good. Still, there are so many other moments that are genuinely funny or emotional that the film as a whole remains watchable and enjoyable. It's as manipulative as mainstream cinema gets, but I didn't mind being manipulated. (Fill in your own masturbation joke here, I'm too lazy too make it myself.)
Review by Ian Pampon |