Apatow’s films reveal limited range of character writing
Like many of his characters, Judd Apatow really needs a new lease on life.
It’s exceedingly easy to hit the former USC student-turned-Hollywood-money-making-machine from the sexism angle — a criticism that became rather trendy among critics after Katherine Heigl confessed she had problems with her character a week after Apatow’s Knocked Up was released.
Apatow certainly makes no attempt to answer such criticism with Funny People, which features Leslie Mann — his loving wife in real life — in a slight variation on the manipulative, psychotically dependent woman she played in that earlier pregnancy comedy. Sadly, the first two-thirds of Funny People, before it goes completely off the rails with the introduction of Mann’s character, is some of the best work the still-young director has yet produced.
Many perceptive critics have done the feminist criticism of Apatow’s film very well. For example, Joe Queenan’s review of Knocked Up in The Guardian gave a truly vicious deconstruction of the absurdity of the male sexual fantasy in that film, a concept that extends to his two other films and to those his success has inspired.
So, it can be honestly said that Apatow should seriously consider taking a few screenwriting classes in writing believable women. But Funny People also proves the long-standing yet little-publicized hypothesis that Apatow should also get a few lessons in writing realistic men.
From a masculine perspective, Apatow’s movies are genuinely entertaining. Of course, they play to the male fantasy centered around ending up with a tall, blonde stunner, but that much-lauded and much-imitated way Apatow writes male banter is something special — reminiscent of the way most guys talk yet infinitely funnier.
But Apatow’s movies are not just guilty of giving men romantic fantasy fodder by stereotyping women, they are just as guilty of repetition, specifically in the lifestyles in which he places his male protagonists. Apatow’s films are not merely sexist; they are also shallowly segregated by class and race.
It is telling that none of Apatow’s movies take place outside of Los Angeles — the first sign of his lack of range. Even Alexander Payne left Omaha, making his best-loved film Sideways, in the process.
Look at the class status of Apatow’s characters. Even Steve Carell’s character in The 40-Year-Old Virgin — an unassuming technology salesman — lives a life of comfort and luxury. Seth Rogen’s characters in Knocked Up and Funny People are Apatow’s poorest, but they end up becoming moderately successful at the end of each film. Both Heigl and Adam Sandler’s characters in their respective films are ingratiated into the Hollywood lifestyle and successful for it.
The only major black character in Apatow’s films is Romany Malco’s stereotyped coworker in The 40-Year-Old Virgin. Most of Hollywood is guilty of the sin of limiting black protagonists to films specifically marketed to black audiences, and with Apatow it is just another indicator of his inability to transcend the well-off, white male Angeleno hero.
Sadly, just as Apatow’s style of humor has been endlessly imitated, his lack of range has rubbed off on his imitators as well. The Apatow-produced Forgetting Sarah Marshall takes place mostly in Hawaii, but is almost exclusively about successful members of the entertainment industry.
Role Models and I Love You, Man, which have no connection to Apatow other than the comedy style and the presence of Paul Rudd (in both) and Jason Segel (in the latter), both take place in LA and both feature scenes centered in Venice Beach. I Love You, Man, which features Rudd as a real estate agent and Segel as an investment banker, seems especially like a celebration of the rich, young Angeleno lifestyle more obviously associated with Brody Jenner than with anything resembling a realistic male character.
Apatow really needs to try writing some minorities – both ethnic and economic — into the script before he makes his next film. Filmmakers need to move out of their comfort zone or their fans will recognize the stagnancy.
There were a lot of problems with Funny People worthy of criticism, but part of the lukewarm response it received at the box office must be attributed to the relative sameness of Apatow’s material.
Unlike the filmmaker, in one of those little artistic ironies, Apatow’s heroes always grow out of their habits to embrace marriage, sex or true friendship. That’s less true with Sandler’s cantankerous self-parody in Funny People but, generally speaking, each of the director’s short list of credits features a montage — set to a catchy indie song — of the hero moving out of his shell and embracing a new, mature life.
Someone should run with Apatow’s motif, give the director a catchy song — he used Bright Eyes to great effect in Knocked Up, it could work again — and a push in an eastward direction. Maybe he’ll end up in a montage that leads him to some artistic maturity.
John Wheeler is a senior majoring in cinema-television critical studies and East Asian languages and cultures. His column, “The Multiplex,” runs Fridays.