Amy Schumer

I Feel Pretty (2018)

I Feel Pretty (2018)

ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

(Netflix Streaming, December 2019) There is an insanely risky bet at the heart of I Feel Pretty that will either make or break the film, and it boils down to whether you will enjoy seeing Amy Schumer pretend that she’s an unattractive woman for more than ninety minutes. The abrasive comedian may not be the model of a rail-thin actress, but she is—at worst—Hollywood homely, the likes of which would be considered good-looking in real life. (The best line anyone has ever said about Schumer is Jennifer Lawrence, upon learning that Schumer considered her “the hottest ideal version of herself,” saying, “you’re not ugly enough, and I’m not hot enough to pull these jokes off.”)  I Feel Pretty, however, is that joke, except with Emily Ratajkowski instead of Lawrence as the protagonist (Schumer) suffers a head injury that convinces her that she’s suddenly her own ideal of beauty and proceeds with the consequent self-confidence to score a job, a boyfriend and several life lessons—especially when the effect wears off. The premise is probably the weakest part of the film—the best sequences simply show two people beginning a sometimes-awkward romance, with all the tentative steps, feints, self-doubt and exhilaration that this implies. There’s a half-hearted attempt at a romantic rivalry that goes nowhere, along with a lot of cruder material that plays in Schumer’s comfort zone and no one else’s. She’s the lead here—to the point where it’s possible to wonder if anyone ever tried to rein her in during the film’s production. From this movie and others, it’s clear the Schumer is a gifted performer—but when she writes her own material, she tends to showboat or create an unconvincing pity party. As such, I Feel Pretty is middling material, a bit frustrating because of the very mixed messages it sends (even in satire, it does remain a prisoner of beauty standards as a shortcut to confidence, ability or charisma—it never seriously questions those assumptions) and the glimpses at a far better movie smothered in between the rest of the material. After similar issues with Trainwreck and Snatched, I’d be more curious to see Schumer in a supporting role, preferably in a script where she doesn’t have creative input.

Snatched (2017)

Snatched (2017)

ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

(On Cable TV, March 2019) The issues with Snatched start from the first title card, where a wittier “The kidnappers were also to blame” was replaced by a much cruder and dumber formulation. But so it goes throughout the entire film—while the premise and structure aren’t bad, the execution rushes to irritating, gross and dumb material every chance it gets. For an actress as polarizing as Amy Schumer, it’s not the best decision to spend the first five minutes of the film establishing the maximally irritating nature of her character. Much of the film goes on in much of the same vein, with Schumer’s vulgar comic persona harming whatever strengths Snatched may have. Not that she’s the sole irritating character in a film that has another character (her brother) also defined by his self-absorbed annoying nature. The film does get a few laughs and has a few high points, mind you: There is a certain welcome unpredictability to the adventures along the way, as plans go awry for both prey and pursuer. Much of the film’s go-for-broke humour should have been reined in, though: the tapeworm sequence depends on an amazing disregard for human biology, is grosser than funny and never leads to a worthwhile laugh, petering out into an unrelated next scene rather than ending on any kind of note high or low. (I suspect that improv is to blame — actors goofing off on a set are far less adept at crafting a punchline as screenwriters tying away with a plan.) And so it goes for the rest of the film. While Wanda Sykes is quite funny (alongside an unrecognizable Joan Cusack), while it’s actually good to see Goldie Hawn making a comeback after fifteen years, while Schumer can manage an occasional moment of comedy, Snatched as a whole is just dumb, exasperating and hypocritical in its attempt to be heartfelt, and far from being as good at it could have been.

Trainwreck (2015)

Trainwreck (2015)

ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

(Video on Demand, November 2015) Much has been said about how Trainwreck is director Judd Apatow’s first film for which he did not write the screenplay; the prevailing hope being that writer/star Amy Schumer’s script would avoid a number of Apatow’s most problematic tics, in particular his tendency to meander and deliver bloated films with largely-unnecessary third acts.  Now that the film is here, though, critics have a good proof that all scripts are filtered through their director’s quirks, and so Trainwreck doesn’t exactly improve a whole lot on the indulgent ramblings, tangential subplots, improvised dialogues and low stakes so characteristics of other Apatow films.  Do note that his strengths also carry through: it’s a convincingly naturalistic exploration of modern relationships, with some good set-pieces, persona-stretching performances, frank discussions and down-to-earth situations.  Trainwreck should appeal, as labeled, to fans of Apatow’s previous films or Schumer’s increasingly familiar comic persona.  Plot-wise, there isn’t much to see here: It’s a fairly standard romantic comedy formula, used as a foundation on which to play character-driven comic moments.  As the philandering, weed-using, underachieving lead, Schumer navigates a tricky line as a somewhat unlikable protagonist who gets to grow a bit during the course of the film.  Far more likable are some personalities in bit-parts: John Cena is unexpectedly hilarious in a small but merciless role, while Lebron James (of all people) gets more than his share of laughs playing himself.  Still, much of the film is pretty much everything you’ve come to expect from the Apatow laugh factory: Those who aren’t fans (or worse; those who aren’t fans and are not in sports), may not find themselves as entertained by Trainwreck as those who are.