admin @ Sat, 2006-09-23 11:00
Perhaps the title "Trust the Man" refers to the philosophy of Julianne Moore, who has starred in all three of the much-ignored movies written and directed by her husband, Bart Freundlich. Less trust and better judgment may be advisable in the future.
"Man" is like a sour, half-formed version of a TV sitcom full of dislikable, disconnected characters. Men think of nothing but sex, sports and bodily functions. Women are bundles of insecurity who worry about their looks and want babies or hot mamas who lure attached men away from their loved ones. Would-be comic scenes cover familiar territory -- therapists, self-help groups, stuck-up queens of the theatah -- without delving below the surfaces of any characters.
Moore plays actress Rebecca, who's coping with a new play and a husband with old problems. Tom (David Duchovny) is a sex addict who has quit his job in advertising and become a house-husband and caretaker of their two sons; he now has plenty of time for online pornography and a fling with a single mom.
Tobey, Rebecca's brother (Billy Crudup), is a selfish, dense sportswriter who has spent seven years with needy, unconfident Elaine (Maggie Gyllenhaal). She wants a child; he wants a cook and housekeeper more than a partner. She tries to connect emotionally with a humorless robot of an Eastern European, the only guy more annoying than Tobey.
Both couples eventually drift apart, until the participants realize how much they miss each other. We're supposed to root for their reunions, though I was hoping these mismatched and irritating whiners would all come together in front of a speeding bus.
The movie takes place in a New York where plays are rehearsed indefinitely but cabs show up at once. It descends to slapstick in the final third, with characters crashing into things, chasing each other and shouting across rooms full of strangers.
For some reason, Freundlich crams the film with toilet references: conferences over urinals, pertinent noises and smells, discussions in bathrooms and at dinner tables about excretions. Maybe he and his wife ought to address this obsession in private.
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