Male Pattern Blandness

[October 12th, 2005] Cameron Crowe, the acclaimed filmmaker whose career is a mixed bag of cinematic tricks ranging from the genius (Say Anything) to the maudlin (Singles), specializes in making male versions of "chick flicks"—dick flicks, for lack of a better term. We're talking about the sort of sentimental emotional displays that allow guys to get misty-eyed and admit that once in a while we need love, too, without seeming like sissies or pussies.

Crowe's latest film, Elizabethtown, follows the same model that has defined most of his work. Orlando Bloom stars as Drew Baylor, the typical mighty-man-fallen-to-incredible-depths that Crowe champions so much (see Jerry Maguire). And, as the film starts, Drew—the hotshot designer of a new show for a Nike-like company—has indeed fallen hard. For reasons that are never explained, Drew's new show is a failure of epic proportions that will cost his employer nearly one billion dollars in losses, and responsibility for the fiasco will rest on our hero's narrow shoulders. Just as he's about to kill himself, Drew receives word that his father has died, and he must return to a small town in Kentucky to retrieve the body. On the flight to Kentucky, Drew meets Claire (Kirsten Dunst), an eccentric flight attendant who comes to his emotional rescue when everything gets too overwhelming.

Like many of Crowe's other heroes, Drew is a man of greatness who crashes and burns, only to rebuild himself from his own personal wreckage. Giving him strength and providing the tools he needs is a woman who accepts him, not for what he is or what she hopes him to be, but for who he is and, most important, who he hopes to be someday. Therein lies the secret ingredient of the male fantasies Crowe manifests. He makes movies for men who stop scratching their balls from time to time to take inventory of themselves and question their place in the universe. His films feed into the fantasy that when we are at our most vulnerable—when our teams lose, when our fathers die, when we lose the jobs that define us, when the woman we think we love dumps us—some enabling muse will come along and say, "I love you—even if you're a loser—and I swallow."

Early in the film's first act, Drew declares there is a difference between failure and fiasco—a fiasco requires taking a shot at glory. His words, no doubt a reflection of Crowe's own philosophies, serve as a harbinger for what is to come. Had Crowe not made such a declaration, Elizabethtown could have been considered a well-intentioned failure. But by his own definition, the film is a fiasco.

Aside from an additional act that belongs in a different movie and continues nearly 30 minutes after the film should have ended, Elizabethtown primarily suffers from well-crafted emotional machinations that render the film artificial in its humanity. Great films of all genres work when you get lost in the world on the screen. As a filmmaker, Crowe never allows you to get lost. There is always some sign saying "You are here," letting you know when to laugh, when to cry, and when to sigh longingly. It's almost as if Crowe is creating emotions for people who have forgotten how to have feelings.

Elizabethtown is not a terrible film. Like other Crowe efforts—Almost Famous, Singles—it is a flawed work that will be forgiven by many, simply because it strikes responsive emotional chords. But since he's already made this movie—and made it better—there is little point to Elizabethtown. It is a mildly entertaining film, but with a blandness that leaves you hungry and wanting more.