| Review:
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Borrowing weirdly from Dickens and Shakespeare, Seven
Pounds updates Scrooge's miser for the 21st century as Will
Smith's self-centered workaholic yuppie with ill-fated text
messaging addiction issues, not to mention acute redemptionitis.
Enter Shylock, who strangely enough, literally weighs in
with just the cure, hence those pounds of flesh. And if
you're totally baffled by now as to what's going down in
this movie, sitting down to watch it may not improve matters
a great deal. Then toss in Gabriele Muccino, who directed
Smith's kindred workaholic persona in The Pursuit of Happyness,
and what you have here is basically The Pursuit of Hokyness.***
Taking cues from the nosy neighbor school of moviemaking,
Muccino positions his highly secretive tall tale as playing
out for the benefit of chronically partially informed audience
eavesdroppers, rather than full-fledged spectators. So be
prepared for lots of head scratching and involuntary attention
deficit disorder, as the undercooked snippets of plot information
teasingly unfold.***
Smith, in his typical impressive pressure cooker character
fashion, is Ben, a suicidal IRS agent who raises pet jellyfish
and seems to enjoy harassing when not stalking his assigned
clients. And it appears that like any run of the mill mobster,
he can get away with stuff like pushing a conniving nursing
home owner's head through a plate glass wall because, well,
when you're behind in your taxes, you don't mess with the
IRS. Though Ben does develop a soft spot against his better
judgment, for a hottie client (Rosario Dawson) with a bad
ticker but a hyperactive libido nonetheless.***
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Final Words:
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Eventually all sorts of sneaking
suspicions begin to materialize, that this picture isn't exactly
what it seems to be. Especially when factoring in Ben's sumptuous
mansion by the ocean on an IRS salary, his inconsolable bereavement
over the death of his wife, and the perpetually fretting guy's
unusual mounting weight loss related to his metaphorical pound
of flesh elimination of assorted body parts. To reveal more
would not only spoil the narrative proceedings, but make me
feel really foolish even discussing these far fetched matters.
Suffice it to say that the jellyfish may deserve a best supporting
nod, don't ask. Paging Dr. Kevorkian. |
