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Shrink is not your typical Hollywood movie, or rather
movie about Hollywood, and Kevin Spacey as Dr. Henry Carter
is in no way your typical shrink. Sporting a dense five
o'clock shadow and in a deep funk these days, while primarily
prone when not smoking joints in the shower and grabbing
a razor while forgetting that he doesn't shave, Carter is
a celebrity therapist to the stars who hasn't a clue about
curing himself. And in this both sharp-witted and exceedingly
poignant cross-cultural satire about the assorted nuts inhabiting
the city, Tinseltown undergoes an analysis on screen that
cuts fiercely, right through all the artificial local hype.***
And though a best-selling author of a self-help guide,
Stop Feeling Bad, Carter no longer believes a word of it,
and even less in himself, while wondering if he may be suffering
from something he labels 'compassion fatigue syndrome.'
At the same time, his procession of outrageous pity party
patients seem to be getting kookier by the minute, though
it may be the 24/7 weed influencing Carter's professional
perceptions. And the beauty of this script is one never
knows. The dazed doctor even finds himself consulting his
wacky dealer Jesus (Jesse Plemons), of all people, if he
thinks the shrink may have a drug problem.***
Though a little too interconnected when it comes to
narrative coincidences, the emotional intensity laced with
deliciously dark humor outweighs the gimmickry. Especially
periodic vignettes whose lunatic dialogue burrows mercilessly
into the financially driven, callous soul of the calculated
nonsense that passes for creativity in Hollywood. And channeled
particularly through the nasty neo-screwball wit of Dallas
Roberts' freaky super-neurotic studio head honcho, appalled
by his own depraved genius and resentful of the distracted
shrink who's not in the mood to cure him.***
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