Okay, here's the deal. I want to put some images up for you, and I want to see how you rate them. Raking fingernails over a chalkboard. Getting a paper cut on your tongue. Eating a baked potato and biting down on a sliver of tin foil. Get where I'm headin' here?
None are particularly dangerous, but they're all about the most nerve-tingling, most irritating things on the planet. And, folks, there was a time when I would readily sit down to a tinfoil and wheat bread sandwich and listen to folk music scratched on a chalkboard than watch Adam Sandler. There was nothing particularly horrible about him, he was just irritating as all get out. And, I'm talking all the way back to his little run-on appearances on MTV's "Remote Control." There was just something about him that made you want to slap him and his momma.
Then an odd thing started to happen. He finally started to be mildly funny. And, because of the mildly funny times, I forced myself to get used to him. Along came Airheads, and he was pretty funny all the way through. I was still in my phase of getting over how weird Buscemi looks in everything he does, so Airheads helped me a lot.
Billy Madison hurt. I mean, it was painful. But, there were moments, like the dodge ball scene, that were very funny. Not enough of them to make the hurt go away, mind you, but there were moments. Then, Happy Gilmore rolled through, and I became an Adam Sandler fan. Happy Gilmore was a dang funny movie, from start to finish, and it was a good performance by Sandler. It let him be goofy, it let him be wild, and it let him have a few humanizing moments. Happy Gilmore was when I was ready to admit that Sandler might just make it as a movie actor. And, let's not forget, he got to live the fantasy we all have dreamed about at one point or another: he got to cold-smack Bob Barker on his keister, something I have been waiting desperately for some dejected "Plinko" or "Showcase Showdown" player to do.
(Of course, there was that meadow muffin he made with Damon Wayans called Bulletproof, but we need not fall back a step, do we?)
And when I first saw the trailer for The Wedding Singer, I was laughing and having fun, and then the apprehension set in. Trailer Shock, as I like to call it. This dreaded syndrome comes on when you see a trailer that is just too good. It makes you want to see the movie, but it leaves you thinking that you may have just seen every good part of the movie. Or, worse, the trailer hooks you, and you build up all this need to see the rest of the movie, and, when you do, you wish you'd stuck to the trailer. I knew deep in my being that, if The Wedding Singer tanked, Sandler would go straight to Limbowood, that section of Hollywood where the actors and actresses go when they get a lot of push, go absolutely nowhere, and fade into the woodwork, destined to start again by popping up in independent movies and short films until they can find some hongry director willing to cast 'em again. (Here are a few residents of Limbowood, for your erudition: Phoebe Cates, Brad Johnson, Molly Ringwald, Crispin Glover, Tim Matheson, Judge Reinhold.)
Well, folks, I needn't have worried, 'cause The Wedding Singer will lock him in for a while as a comic leading man. It's not the Adam Sandler you may be used to, but it's an Adam Sandler that's fun to watch act rather than freak out. (Hmmmmmm. Maturity? From the guy who invented Opera Man?)
Sandler plays the title character, Robbie Hart, a rock-n-roll dreamer that didn't quite make the cut at playing to the masses, so he's built himself a niche in the "matrimonial artistries," so to speak. He's an average Joe, a nice guy, who does what he likes doing, no matter how nerdy it might sound. Then, Robbie's fiancé (Angela Featherstone) dumps him at the alter, because she can't stand the idea of being married to a lowly wedding singer.
Robbie goes into a dark phase. Whoa, look, who's kidding who? He loses it completely. He starts singing things like "Love Stinks" at a reception. He could care less about anyone else's happiness or newlywed bliss. But, in the midst of his breakdown, he's spotted by Julia (Drew Barrymore), a waitress at the affair. She, too, is about to get married, and decides that Robbie is the best wedding coordinator she could have to plan her wedding. Who better to plan than the guy who's seen them all, right?
Well, as is the spirit of all true romantic comedies, a problem arises. Robbie starts falling for Julia. She's everything he wants. And, as he gets to know her groom-to-be, he realizes that Julia is marrying a bonafide jerk, a lunky twit with a wandering eye and Don Johnson's wardrobe. Predictions, kiddies?
I really never thought I'd say this, but Sandler is breaking new ground as an actor here, and taking some chances. I mean, let's face it, Billy Madison and Happy Gilmore were successful, I guess, but they were aimed low enough to hit Shetland ponies. If the complexities in Happy Gilmore left you speechless, you might ought to think about Hooked on Phonics and a warm glass of Ovaltine. Here, though, he's playing against that type. He's giving some ground to the under-15 crowd and pulling a little duty as leading-man/heartthrob, and he's actually pretty good at it. Sandler's strength in characterizing has always been the "regular guy" outlook, and here more than ever, it works as a plus instead of a fill-in. With his Rick Springfield hair and Daryl Hall wardrobe, he's a charmer instead of a slapstick clown. Who knows? He might actually have allowed himself to grow up, to the adolescents' horror, but to everyone else's pleasure.
And, is it me, or is Drew Barrymore taking classes? She's run her life these last few years playing up the "wild child" persona, flashing Letterman and tattooing herself and showing her 'developments' in Playboy (not that there's anything wrong with Playboy, mind you. Hef, love your work.) I just never expected to use the words "nice girl" when I talked about her. Suddenly, she's playing the girl next door -- not in rehab, or a demented gun nut, or on dope, or whatever. She's Miss Congeniality, as sweet as Oreo pie, as innocent as Bambi on prom night (the deer, not the Bambis I dated in the mid '80s.)
Yep, friends, the '80s. This movie is set right dab in the last decade, and the film works that era for all it had to offer, which ain't all that much. Director Frank Coraci has rekindled references that were probably better off forgotten in the grand scheme of things, but they work like a charm here. The costuming, the hair and makeup, the feel of the movie takes you back those few years ago when all everybody cared about was themselves, when the music was as peppy pop as it could get, and every wedding had a singer, not some loose cannon DJ with four CD players and a couple of speaker racks. While I'd be the first to agree that this whole dance down nostalgia road is being spread as thin as it can get, it works to the benefit of the film the same way the '70s worked for Boogie Nights. The time is used almost as another character, one that paints the behavior of everyone associated with it. Whether you hated it or loved it, you dang sure lived through it. Why not kick back and remember how bizarre we all were?
The Wedding Singer is exactly what it sets out to be, a slick little romantic comedy with some great laughs and a sweet love story. It also boasts two of the more surprising performances we've seen so far. Two kids who relished the wild side, coming home to play nice for the grown-ups. And, you know what? Adam and Drew are a nice couple to watch. The armpit-music players from junior high will hate it, but those of us who appreciate a little romance with our movies will be in for a treat.
Image copyright New Line Cinema.
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in for observation