Crudup (great name; "the upper crud") suddenly walks out of his successful life when he realizes that his wife, kid, job as architect, and the tall NY buildings are suffocating him. The poor dear. I can certainly identify with part of it: who the hell wants a 3 year-old kid who sounds weirder over the phone than E.T. in his most alien moments? Who wants a 3 year-old kid, period. Still, our rather short anti-hero produced the little bastard of his own free will hence one of the first things we learn about Crudup is that he's an irresponsible, selfish git. The movie showcases his (dis)spirited "search for himself" - or put in more simple terms, he uses this personal mental crisis as an opportunity for a nice little unplanned (sex) holiday.
As he makes his way to the first small town, Crudup reveals that it isn't just his strange son or The Empire State Building that became a burden for his small shoulders. His genitals got that certain itch, the one that guys get all the time. Being good-looking (something the movie tells us over and over, though not that he is practically a midget) he gets to sleep with several women in no time. Apparently, he possesses such raw, irresistible sexual magnetism that a waitress, played by once-pretty Karen Allen, practically bribes her colleague to let her have him. "Would you like those eggs with a salad and a pair of small breasts?" Crudup nods and off they go.
To cut a long story short, what saves this movie from being unwatchable is that it's a road movie, and road movies always have elements of surprise to them, if nothing else. The best part of WT was the very effective scene in which Julianne Moore turns out to be a demented schizophrenic paranoid that talks to empty chairs.
The worst part of the movie is Crudup's visit to his father, played by Keith, an actor only 14 years Crudup's senior. When you add to that the fact that nowadays older actors and actresses always look younger than they really are - due to plastic surgery - we end up with a father-and-son situation that doesn't exactly lend realism to the proceedings. "Dad, why did you have me when you were just 10?" This is almost Oliverstoneian casting! (Jolie and Farrell as mother and son. "Mom, how come Ancient Greece had the medical know-how to get you pregnant at the age of 3?" Ditto Close and Gibson in "Hamlet".) Unfortunately, he never poses this essential question. Instead, the writer/director Friendly Beard uses this opportunity to make excuses for Crudup's selfishness. "He was a poor little boy, deserted by his equally mean father at a young age, so that's why Crudup is such a bastard now." Explanation offered, excuse rammed down out throats, case closed. Like father, like son, like Hollywood, "like me, for it's not my fault destiny has been unkind to me".
This is the kind of liberal, left-wing Psychology 101 baloney that we've been served by American dramas for decades now. The recent trend is that no-one is ultimately responsible for their actions hence we should weep for all the sociopaths, psychopaths and other degenerates out there. Poor little innocent things, run over by a harsh life... "Please, Mr.Judge, don't give Mr.Mass-Murderer the death penalty, for it is a cruel and unusual punishment for a lost soul that we are trying so desperately to save. His father was an alcoholic and his mother watched "The Cosby Show" every day. It's not his fault he turned out that way..." It's the same with Crudup: we're supposed to be moved, touched by this last-minute revelation, as if he were the only kid who grew up without a parent.
Anti-social behaviour, whether it be just regular adultery or genocide, has been scientifically proved to stem mostly from the individual's DNA structure, much less from his upbringing. Psychopaths are born, not created (not referring to Crudup, though). The result of this new trend is that people are becoming softies with excuses ready for every single thing they do wrong, and if that isn't a precursor to the eventual fall of the Western World, I don't know what is.
Nice shots of the American landscapes, and a horrible soundtrack by Willie Nelson and Bonnie Rat.
As he makes his way to the first small town, Crudup reveals that it isn't just his strange son or The Empire State Building that became a burden for his small shoulders. His genitals got that certain itch, the one that guys get all the time. Being good-looking (something the movie tells us over and over, though not that he is practically a midget) he gets to sleep with several women in no time. Apparently, he possesses such raw, irresistible sexual magnetism that a waitress, played by once-pretty Karen Allen, practically bribes her colleague to let her have him. "Would you like those eggs with a salad and a pair of small breasts?" Crudup nods and off they go.
To cut a long story short, what saves this movie from being unwatchable is that it's a road movie, and road movies always have elements of surprise to them, if nothing else. The best part of WT was the very effective scene in which Julianne Moore turns out to be a demented schizophrenic paranoid that talks to empty chairs.
The worst part of the movie is Crudup's visit to his father, played by Keith, an actor only 14 years Crudup's senior. When you add to that the fact that nowadays older actors and actresses always look younger than they really are - due to plastic surgery - we end up with a father-and-son situation that doesn't exactly lend realism to the proceedings. "Dad, why did you have me when you were just 10?" This is almost Oliverstoneian casting! (Jolie and Farrell as mother and son. "Mom, how come Ancient Greece had the medical know-how to get you pregnant at the age of 3?" Ditto Close and Gibson in "Hamlet".) Unfortunately, he never poses this essential question. Instead, the writer/director Friendly Beard uses this opportunity to make excuses for Crudup's selfishness. "He was a poor little boy, deserted by his equally mean father at a young age, so that's why Crudup is such a bastard now." Explanation offered, excuse rammed down out throats, case closed. Like father, like son, like Hollywood, "like me, for it's not my fault destiny has been unkind to me".
This is the kind of liberal, left-wing Psychology 101 baloney that we've been served by American dramas for decades now. The recent trend is that no-one is ultimately responsible for their actions hence we should weep for all the sociopaths, psychopaths and other degenerates out there. Poor little innocent things, run over by a harsh life... "Please, Mr.Judge, don't give Mr.Mass-Murderer the death penalty, for it is a cruel and unusual punishment for a lost soul that we are trying so desperately to save. His father was an alcoholic and his mother watched "The Cosby Show" every day. It's not his fault he turned out that way..." It's the same with Crudup: we're supposed to be moved, touched by this last-minute revelation, as if he were the only kid who grew up without a parent.
Anti-social behaviour, whether it be just regular adultery or genocide, has been scientifically proved to stem mostly from the individual's DNA structure, much less from his upbringing. Psychopaths are born, not created (not referring to Crudup, though). The result of this new trend is that people are becoming softies with excuses ready for every single thing they do wrong, and if that isn't a precursor to the eventual fall of the Western World, I don't know what is.
Nice shots of the American landscapes, and a horrible soundtrack by Willie Nelson and Bonnie Rat.