Adam Sandler executive produced Rob Schneider’s trio of abysmal comedies (Deuce Bigelow, The Animal and The Hot Chick), and those films had the distinction of being far worse than any Sandler-headlined comedy currently in the archives. With the release of Anger Management, the chasm separating Sandler movies from that annoying Schneider garbage has become a lot smaller.
Somewhere around the middle of this movie, something significant dawned on me: I wasn’t happy, and since happiness often begets laughter, not much of that was taking place. The movie is a stiff embarrassment for nearly all involved. While Sandler unchained can be a very funny thing (Happy Gilmore and, yes, Little Nicky), this movie has him in a comedic strait jacket.
Compounding the feeling of missed opportunities is the presence of a little guy named Jack Nicholson. The casting of Nicholson is quite the stunt. Incorporating an esteemed actor of Nicholson’s ilk into a Sandler vehicle provides the chance to expand the audience. It also gives Sandler, who finally got some critical respect for Punch-Drunk Love, the chance to show that he has the moxie and chops to share the screen with a Hollywood giant.
As Dave Buznik, a soft-spoken advertising exec who creates clothing for obese cats, Sandler is in a similar mode as his repressed rage monster in Punch-Drunk Love: quiet and nervous with something unholy brewing under the surface.
Nicholson, after being so uncharacteristically squished in About Schmidt, gets a chance to go nuts as Dr. Buddy Rydell, a self-help guru assigned to Dave—Dave having been wrongly convicted for assault. Nicholson’s eyebrows and devilish grin run full throttle as Buddy.
The film exhibits shades of The Odd Couple (minus the laughter) as Nicholson’s Rydell moves in with Sandler’s Buznik to conduct round-the-clock anger management therapy. In a moment reminiscent of John Candy and Steve Martin sharing a bed in Planes, Trains and Automobiles (minus the laughter), Nicholson makes his way into Sandler’s bunk. He then lets out a predictable fart, and I need to see a film with Jack farting about as much as I need to see … actually, there is no real need to finish this thought.
The reality is that no matter how outrageous or potentially clever the teaming of Sandler and Nicholson might’ve appeared on paper, they stink together. The two have zero comedic chemistry, and matters aren’t helped much by a script that magnifies all that is bad in current Sandler comedies.
The schmaltzy stink that started to waft around with The Wedding Singer, becoming unbearably putrid by Mr. Deeds, is in full stench mode for this one. The Adam Sandler sweetheart comedy where he’s just a cute guy under a screwed up exterior has got to go. Throw the formula out with the stale-smelling, empty beer bottles and start over.
If there were a medal and a box of treats handed out for film history’s lamest movie ending, Anger Management would be in the running. Dave proposes to his fiancé (Marisa Tomei, yet another Oscar winner in this turd) from the field at Yankee stadium, where his voice, sans microphone, travels nicely over the deafening roar of 50,000 fans.
A last minute explanation of how the Nicholson character became so intricately twisted up in Dave’s life isn’t as clever as the screenwriter probably hoped it would be.
When you have Sandler and Nicholson in your comedy and the funniest things about it are a pissed-looking obese cat and N.Y. Yankees pitcher Roger Clemens, something has gone awry. Nicholson hasn’t raised the bar on a Sandler comedy after raising some major expectations. Maybe Sandler isn’t funny. Perhaps I was just an immature ass four or five years ago.