Life loves to throw us curveballs. Sometimes, we can swing and successfully make the play. At other times, we are like Nick Halsey (a decent Will Ferrell), unable to cope and inert in the face of overwhelming adversity. In the new comedic drama Everything Must Go (based on Raymond Carver's short story "Why Don't You Dance?"), we meet up with this recovering alcoholic on the worst day of his entire life. He's just lost his job, his wife is divorcing him, she's locked him out of his own house and tossed all his possessions onto the front lawn. With nowhere to go and no means of emotional support, Nick crawls into a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon, waiting for what he believes is the inevitable.
Of course, those interpersonal pitches just keep on coming. His AA sponsor, a cop named Frank Garcia (Michael Peña) shows up to survey the damage. Reminding Nick that he needs a garage sale permit to stay planted in his former front yard, our hero decides to do a bit of purging. He sets up a sign, labels his belongings, and goes about stripping himself of the past. Along the way, he meets up with two more people who will impact his life in profound (and sometimes impractical) ways. One is overweight grade schooler Jordan (Christopher Wallace), the other is pregnant neighbor Samantha (Rebecca Hall). Both have an affinity for Nick's plight. Both also show him that there is more to his simmering suburban malaise than a battle with the bottle.
While it constantly treads the fine line between "incredibly engaging" and "uniquely underwhelming", Everything Must Go is a nice little sidetrack in Ferrell's otherwise known quantity career choice as anarchic arrested adolescent funnyman. Oh course, any movie channeling Carver has to deal with the shadow of the superior Robert Altman masterwork Short Cuts, but in his defense, first time writer/director Dan Rush does a good job of reworking the famed writer's everyman neo-realism into something semi-cinematic. He emphasizes the interaction between the characters, carrying out his insight in clever conversations. These exchanges also highlight one of Everything Must Go's major issues. While meaningful to the individuals engaged in them, few pay off in any noticeable emotional or narrative revelations for the viewer.
Indeed, this is merely a good natured slice of specialized life, a carefully hewed motion picture metaphor for finding one's core in a world wrapped in blankets of blatant materialistic purposelessness. We can see how "nowhere" Nick's existence has become. His disaffected nature may be coaxed by a couple of (dozen) brews, but in reality, he is merely a little boy locked in a manmade world of wasted dreams. Ferrell's innate infantilism sells this well, as does his often delightful demeanor. But when Everything Must Go demands that he dig deeper, that he remove the Apatow ape act and really show us some pain, he just can't deliver. A well timed line reading that wouldn't resonate quite as humorously without him? No problem. Real human suffering. Ummm...
Still, for all its slack epiphanies and literary happenstance, Everything Must Go settles nicely into its sometimes quirky indie ideals. It doesn't mumble its way into meaning or announce its outsider intentions with glib arrogance. Instead, Rush remembers that telling a story with compelling personalities within is as important -- if not more so -- than being part of some creative movement. With Ferrell at the fore, some fans may mistake this as another overloaded laugh riot. Instead, it's a contemplative response to the various pitfalls life places in our path. Indeed, sometimes, we swing and miss. In this case, our hero -- and his film -- barely connect.
Of course, those interpersonal pitches just keep on coming. His AA sponsor, a cop named Frank Garcia (Michael Peña) shows up to survey the damage. Reminding Nick that he needs a garage sale permit to stay planted in his former front yard, our hero decides to do a bit of purging. He sets up a sign, labels his belongings, and goes about stripping himself of the past. Along the way, he meets up with two more people who will impact his life in profound (and sometimes impractical) ways. One is overweight grade schooler Jordan (Christopher Wallace), the other is pregnant neighbor Samantha (Rebecca Hall). Both have an affinity for Nick's plight. Both also show him that there is more to his simmering suburban malaise than a battle with the bottle.
While it constantly treads the fine line between "incredibly engaging" and "uniquely underwhelming", Everything Must Go is a nice little sidetrack in Ferrell's otherwise known quantity career choice as anarchic arrested adolescent funnyman. Oh course, any movie channeling Carver has to deal with the shadow of the superior Robert Altman masterwork Short Cuts, but in his defense, first time writer/director Dan Rush does a good job of reworking the famed writer's everyman neo-realism into something semi-cinematic. He emphasizes the interaction between the characters, carrying out his insight in clever conversations. These exchanges also highlight one of Everything Must Go's major issues. While meaningful to the individuals engaged in them, few pay off in any noticeable emotional or narrative revelations for the viewer.
Indeed, this is merely a good natured slice of specialized life, a carefully hewed motion picture metaphor for finding one's core in a world wrapped in blankets of blatant materialistic purposelessness. We can see how "nowhere" Nick's existence has become. His disaffected nature may be coaxed by a couple of (dozen) brews, but in reality, he is merely a little boy locked in a manmade world of wasted dreams. Ferrell's innate infantilism sells this well, as does his often delightful demeanor. But when Everything Must Go demands that he dig deeper, that he remove the Apatow ape act and really show us some pain, he just can't deliver. A well timed line reading that wouldn't resonate quite as humorously without him? No problem. Real human suffering. Ummm...
Still, for all its slack epiphanies and literary happenstance, Everything Must Go settles nicely into its sometimes quirky indie ideals. It doesn't mumble its way into meaning or announce its outsider intentions with glib arrogance. Instead, Rush remembers that telling a story with compelling personalities within is as important -- if not more so -- than being part of some creative movement. With Ferrell at the fore, some fans may mistake this as another overloaded laugh riot. Instead, it's a contemplative response to the various pitfalls life places in our path. Indeed, sometimes, we swing and miss. In this case, our hero -- and his film -- barely connect.
