Let's be honest and admit that the title is half the problem.
Is this a Pottery Barn item inspired by a chiropractor's supply closet?
Is this a law firm for victims of overly aggressive pants tailors?
Why couldn't they just have called it Fate?
That question will never be answered.
Surprisingly, this new little movie from from first time director George Nolfi doesn't leave the audience with many other questions. It isn't the muddy mess folks started to get the impression was headed their way as the film's release date was continually pushed back and ultimately hit the screen with lukewarm reviews and less than stellar box office. Obviously the film had its reshoots -- who knows who did them -- who knows who rewrote what -- who knows what scenes were replaced -- when certain overclarifications came to pass and when pockets of selective voice over arrived.
Amazingly, this seems symptomatic of many a film adapted from Phillip K. Dick stories. Spielberg - surprise! - escaped this pitfall with Minority Report and released his film simply as intended. It stands as one of the best science fiction films of the past decade in a year where Steven also gave us Catch Me If You Can. He didn't get tripped up on the need to overly explain the conceit of his PKD tale -- then again, folks don't tell Spielberg what to do.
One wonders whether there's an original Adjustment Bureau out there that accepted the intelligence of its intended adult audience and didn't murk itself up with a bit (and truly just a bit) of egregious exposition and explanation. Anyone who has seen the overly voiced-over Bladerunner and then enjoyed Ridley Scott's actual cut knows the difference -- the director had it right all along. Time will tell whether Mr. Nolfi had it pegged or whether the studio was right. Frankly, I hope Nolfi had it and look forward to buying a director's cut Blu-Ray in a few months.
That bit aside, let's talk about the poorly sold film -- which is masquerading as an action drama but is far more of a love story than anything else. Franzly, it should be categorized as Kafka-esque romance -- with a positive spin. There's no shapeshifting or buggifying -- but there's obviously a bureau. The ins and outs of fate and its many doorways had my brain drawn far more to Orson Welles' Trial than any sci-fi pic or Pakula chase and race. But here, we're not watching Anthony Perkins languish in a land of nightmarish bureaucratic persecution -- we're watching Matt Damon and Emily Blunt fall in love.
I am an unabashed, over the moon Matt Damon superfan. His selection of material is routinely fantastic and I wonder what his hand was in The Adjustment Bureau considering Writer/Director/Producer George Nolfi's having served as one of the writers on both The Bourne Ultimatum and Ocean's Twelve. Perhaps he and Mr. Damon have developed a working relationship over the years -- as wise writers and actors often do. And Damon ain't no dummy.
Professionally speaking, The Adjustment Bureau may not be bringing Matt a grandiose check or any awards. It's no True Grit, it's no Hereafter. But from an actor standpoint, this script was a smart move. Damon plays a Congressman from New York whose days as a bad boy cost him his first stab at the Senate -- despite initially holding a 10 point lead. Right before his concession speech, he meets the lovely Emily Blunt. And it's love at first sight.
Frankly, not enough movies are playing the love at first sight card and this movie is a true testament to the fact that it needs to come back in a major way. Why wouldn't two of the world's most beautiful, talented and naturally comic people not charm each other right off their feet in a first meeting? Isn't this what we go to the movies for?
And when they run into one another the next day on the bus -- well does it even matter that you lost your Senate bid? The girl of your dreams is on the M6!
Enter The Adjustment Bureau whose mission is to keep us mortals to the plan -- you've all seen the weird auto-Etch-A-Sketch notebooks toted about by the likes of John Slattery and Terrence Stamp. Yes, that's our fate in there. And Damon and Blunt have knocked one another off course. They can't end up being the fated political juggernaut and dancer/choreographer "the chairman" has in store if they pursue one another -- they must be pulled apart.
The film reels off on a four year course toward Damon's next stab at the Senate, as these two lovers search for one another out of a compulsion to love and avoid one another when they fear destroying their true love's fate.
And yes, idiot in the audience, Senate terms are six years long. He's obviously running for the other seat, you jackass.
In what may be the most obnoxious pun considering the film in question: hats off to Blunt and Damon.
The chemistry between the two of them is remarkable considering they have to trust one another in the face of a completely absurd set of surrealistic fedora wearing guardians of fate. The charm in the flick of an eye or the glint of a smile -- and the passion of their kisses had me hook, line, and sinker. They are absolutely believable real human beings in amidst a ridiculous set of circumstances and it works. The romance is unquestionably on the screen and that's all the movie needs despite its self-conscious need to explain its every device right down to the nitty gritty. One hardly needed a flashcard session with Damon and Anthony Mackie down in the New York sewers -- or wherever the hell they were supposed to be -- to go through the point by point plan for act three. For heaven's sake, throw Damon and Blunt back into bed! Use your brain!
I recommend it. Just know that you're walking into a romance -- not a sci-fi thriller or some Inception like piece of alternarama -- man how Nolan must have thrown Adjustment for a loop!
You will enjoy yourself. McCue seal of approval.
I might add, the only thing that surprised me more than how crazy excellent Damon looked -- like he'd gone back in time ten years -- was how damn spry Terrence Stamp was. Look at Stamp trotting up those stamps in his smart little suits and swaying scarfs. Well done, sir!
- Matthew J. McCue
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