I give you The Weather Man.
Dave Spritz is a Chicago weather man, played by Nicholas Cage, who hates his life. He misses his ex-wife, worries that he fucked up with his kids, and wonders what will happen when his domineering novelist father dies of cancer. He tells us these things in unendingly intrusive voiceovers. Eventually, he realizes that he can bitch all he likes or he can deal with life. He deals.
I’d say that there’s no “there” to the film, but that would be a lie. There’s plenty of “there.” It’s just that the film tells you what it’s about in such unmistakable terms, you’re left without anything to mull over or chew on. I liked it while I was sitting in the theatre, but before I was even out of the lobby I realized that the film had basically exhausted itself. It self-interprets. I imagine that the film playing to an empty theater would be just as effective as playing to an actual audience.
For example: there’s a recurrent theme of fast food. Most of it getting thrown at Dave. There’s something modestly interesting about the idea of disposability here. Which Dave realizes most of the way through the film, noting “it’s always fast food. Because yada yada yada disposable. Like me.” Or something. By that point I’d mostly given up caring.
It’s bad enough that the film spells out EVERYTHING, but there’s a more fatal flaw: the film is basically the tragedy of a man who’s too hard on himself, and makes little things worse because of it. But I never saw any indication that he’s being any harder on himself than he deserves. His wife thinks he’s a dick, and his dad thinks he’s a failure? Poor baby. I agree with them. This is not the kind of story that can possibly work if the audience thinks the protagonist is an asshole.
But it’s not worth tearing holes in a film like this. It exists so yuppies can feel better about just not really “getting” subtitled films, and so Nic Cage can get another Oscar nod. Good luck with that. If you take a nomination away from Philip Seymour Hoffman, I will personally kill you.
5/10