Trust the Man -reviewed by Sam Osborn
-rating: 3 out of 4
The Manhattan of the movies has always been amorphous, malleable in the sense that it shifts to the filmmaker's demand. Scorsese, for example, often manifests his New York into a visual representation of Hell, whereas Woody Allen tends to make it a cobblestone Heaven. Now recently I've moved into the city, to a tenth floor room above Greenwich Village where Trust the Man supposedly resides. The opening shot is set two blocks away from where I'm writing now, in fact. The effect of having experienced everyday life here is that now I see the cracks and fissures of Hollywood's Manhattan. Bart Freundlich, writer and director of Trust the Man, is doing his best impression of Woody Allen here, especially in making the directorial assertion that New York City is a place where only Publishers, Actors and Writers live, and where minorities are only found polishing shoes to give such upper crust white society their services. It's a wonderland of very comfortable proportions; a place you cozy up to and snuggle with. The real New York City has very little to do with snuggling, mind you, and Bart Freundlich's version is almost entirely nonexistent.
But Trust the Man doesn't really require a realistic Manhattan for its story to work. It requires only rich characters and a wealth of good humor, both of which Mr. Freundlich has. In fact, ignoring all the financial woes and common worries of the average New Yorker is kind of the film's schtick. In this world, people only worry about affairs, relationships and sex; not the boring trash that the rest of us deal with. It avoids the clichés of furrowed eyebrows over piles of overdue bills to make way for an easy sitcom-esquire romantic tale.
The players in this easy yarn are Tom and Rebecca (David Duchovny and Julianne Moore), a married couple with three young children, and Tobey and Elaine (Billy Crudup and Maggie Gyllenhaal), unmarried but facing much of the same issues as their betrothed friends. Tom is a borderline sex addict, pawing lovingly at his wife as she walks to and from the stage where she works as a famous actress. Tobey is a lazy sports journalist who calls Elaine at her work to ask what a good word would be for "fish lover". Both couples have their respectable problems and discuss them over countless scenes of luncheon and wine. Elaine wants a baby and Tobey is pre-occupied with death as Tom begins to seem bored with his role as a stay-at-home dad. Rebecca seems to have the least worries, but is continually dealing with the dorky flirtation of a young co-worker.
The film progresses much the way a sitcom would, glossing over serious drama with easy humor and wit. Woody Allen has a tendency to do this, but has the grace to fit anxiety, depression and woe into his endless Manhattan charm. Freundlich wants nothing to do with such emotions and would rather invest in chuckles and one-liners. At one point, Tom makes the epiphany that throughout his marriage he's been using humor to mask the real problems that are razing his life. Trust the Man might do well to have the same revelation.
But although Trust the Man might play like a sitcom, it plays like a damn good one. The characters are full and lovable, inhabited by talented actors who know both comic delivery and the faces that spell sadness. And the writing is snappy, rarely missing a beat and striking a chord just below Allen's usual intellectual quirk. David Duchovny is most impressive as Tom, shedding the laconic skin of Agent Mulder for a mellow, droopy-eyed husband with a good-natured wit. The rest are all wonderful too, but don't stray far from their usual casting. It all makes for a quick little snap of a film; one that won't ask for contemplation or analysis, but that instead asks for a belief in a group of snappy New Yorkers living in a breezy, lemon-drop metropolis.
-rating: 3 out of 4
The Manhattan of the movies has always been amorphous, malleable in the sense that it shifts to the filmmaker's demand. Scorsese, for example, often manifests his New York into a visual representation of Hell, whereas Woody Allen tends to make it a cobblestone Heaven. Now recently I've moved into the city, to a tenth floor room above Greenwich Village where Trust the Man supposedly resides. The opening shot is set two blocks away from where I'm writing now, in fact. The effect of having experienced everyday life here is that now I see the cracks and fissures of Hollywood's Manhattan. Bart Freundlich, writer and director of Trust the Man, is doing his best impression of Woody Allen here, especially in making the directorial assertion that New York City is a place where only Publishers, Actors and Writers live, and where minorities are only found polishing shoes to give such upper crust white society their services. It's a wonderland of very comfortable proportions; a place you cozy up to and snuggle with. The real New York City has very little to do with snuggling, mind you, and Bart Freundlich's version is almost entirely nonexistent.
But Trust the Man doesn't really require a realistic Manhattan for its story to work. It requires only rich characters and a wealth of good humor, both of which Mr. Freundlich has. In fact, ignoring all the financial woes and common worries of the average New Yorker is kind of the film's schtick. In this world, people only worry about affairs, relationships and sex; not the boring trash that the rest of us deal with. It avoids the clichés of furrowed eyebrows over piles of overdue bills to make way for an easy sitcom-esquire romantic tale.
The players in this easy yarn are Tom and Rebecca (David Duchovny and Julianne Moore), a married couple with three young children, and Tobey and Elaine (Billy Crudup and Maggie Gyllenhaal), unmarried but facing much of the same issues as their betrothed friends. Tom is a borderline sex addict, pawing lovingly at his wife as she walks to and from the stage where she works as a famous actress. Tobey is a lazy sports journalist who calls Elaine at her work to ask what a good word would be for "fish lover". Both couples have their respectable problems and discuss them over countless scenes of luncheon and wine. Elaine wants a baby and Tobey is pre-occupied with death as Tom begins to seem bored with his role as a stay-at-home dad. Rebecca seems to have the least worries, but is continually dealing with the dorky flirtation of a young co-worker.
The film progresses much the way a sitcom would, glossing over serious drama with easy humor and wit. Woody Allen has a tendency to do this, but has the grace to fit anxiety, depression and woe into his endless Manhattan charm. Freundlich wants nothing to do with such emotions and would rather invest in chuckles and one-liners. At one point, Tom makes the epiphany that throughout his marriage he's been using humor to mask the real problems that are razing his life. Trust the Man might do well to have the same revelation.
But although Trust the Man might play like a sitcom, it plays like a damn good one. The characters are full and lovable, inhabited by talented actors who know both comic delivery and the faces that spell sadness. And the writing is snappy, rarely missing a beat and striking a chord just below Allen's usual intellectual quirk. David Duchovny is most impressive as Tom, shedding the laconic skin of Agent Mulder for a mellow, droopy-eyed husband with a good-natured wit. The rest are all wonderful too, but don't stray far from their usual casting. It all makes for a quick little snap of a film; one that won't ask for contemplation or analysis, but that instead asks for a belief in a group of snappy New Yorkers living in a breezy, lemon-drop metropolis.