Film Review: Dinner For Schmucks

August 2, 2010 | Story by: Andrew Johnson | Categories: Featured, Film, News

Review by Andrew Johnson

“The prettiest sight in this fine pretty world is the privileged class enjoying its privileges!” remarks James Stewart sarcastically in the classic screwball comedy The Philadelphia Story. Jay Roach might concur with that sentiment.  From the adventures of Charlie Chaplin’s tramp to Monty Python’s Upperclass Twits of the Year, comedy has frequently been used to explore themes of economic disparity and class conflict.  Roach’s Dinner For Schmucks is Hollywood’s latest attempt to tackle the widening gap between the rich and the poor – or in its own words, the “winners” and the “losers.”   Lucky for us, not only is it surprisingly smart in its depiction of recession woes, it’s just plain funny to boot.

Paul Rudd stars as Tim, a rising executive who gets invited by his boss to attend a monthly dinner with other high rollers.  The catch: each guest must invite a quirky and idiotic loser to dinner so the company elite can make fun of them.  The biggest schmuck will be fooled into receiving a trophy supposedly for their extraordinary talents, when it’s actually a symbol of their inferiority. Tim is conflicted over whether or not to sacrifice a promotion in the name of principle, but inadvertently runs into Barry (Steve Carell), a man so socially awkward and accident-prone that he makes Forrest Gump look like The Fonz.  Tim sees this as a sign that he should take Barry to dinner, unaware that the encounter may very well ruin his life.

The comedy is broad and has the subtlety of an atomic bomb, but the chemistry of Rudd and Carell usually makes even the most uninspired gags earn a chuckle.  Most of the humor revolves around slapstick physical comedy or raunchy conversation – one gets the feeling that if Chaplin or Keaton had worked in the sound age, they’d have thrived with similar material.  Even more remarkable than the two leads, however, is the supporting cast.  Jemaine Clement steals the show as a self-obsessed artist with a deadpan delivery and exaggerated physicality that recalls the glory days of comedians like Steve Martin and Bill Murray.  Zach Galifianakis is just as flawless as Therman, an IRS agent who works with Barry and is convinced he can control people’s minds.

Unfortunately, the film goes so far in its portrayal of society’s “losers” that it shoots itself in the foot.  The supporting characters are so cartoonish and over-the-top that the audience is encouraged to view them with the same condescending disdain as the bourgeoisie – as the butt of a joke, and nothing more.  Barry isn’t just dumb; he’s borderline mentally handicapped.  The script’s attempts at humanizing him come close to succeeding but are ultimately overshadowed by his sheer ineptitude.  Though the character contains positive elements of Carell’s previous work – the charming naivete of The 40 Year-Old Virgin’s Andy Stitzer, for example – his overwhelming characteristic is that of an idiot.  I was reminded mostly of Carell’s breakout role as Brick Tamblin in Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgandy, a character who according to that film was “mentally retarded.”  The film does a decent job of portraying Barry as just a simple-minded lost soul, but there are moments when I felt guilty for laughing at his antics.  He is in many ways an emotionally stunted individual, someone so out of touch with reality that to laugh isn’t in good humor, it’s downright cruel.  Though the film tries to make us identify with him, it’s ultimately impossible to relate to someone who if he existed in reality would belong in a hospital.  Tim’s bosses may be arrogant jerks, but at least they’re sane.

That said, even if it’s difficult to fully sympathize with the “idiots” and their plight, there’s a startlingly well-handled anti-establishment spirit coursing through the film.  Though the vast majority of movie focuses on Tim’s relationship with his girlfriend and Barry’s growing involvement in his life, the climactic dinner scene brings class conflict to the forefront, with Barry and the other guests ignorantly competing in stupidity for the entertainment of the elite.  I won’t spoil the ending, suffice to say it’s filled with tongue-in-cheek symbolic imagery that recalls a socio-political revolution of sorts.

Indeed, it wouldn’t be a stretch to say that Dinner For Schmucks has a quasi-Marxist edge to it, from the way the lower-class “losers” are oppressed by upper-class “winners” (without realizing it, no less) to the cynicism with which it depicts economic institutions like the IRS.  Tim is literally middle-class, stuck on the sixth floor of his company and striving to reach the heralded seventh.  Though he regards the elite with cynicism and discomfort, he nonetheless feels pressured to join their ranks.  The overbearing Therman is in many ways a literal embodiment of Marx’s line, “The ideas of the ruling class become the ruling ideas,”  so caught up in his own delusions of power that he’s managed to persuade Barry they’re true.  As shown in the film’s trailers, at one point in the film Barry can only sit paralyzed as Therman taunts and humiliates him, convinced that he’s physically unable to fight back.  I can’t think of a more apt (or hilarious) metaphor for class imprisonment.

Dinner For Schmucks feels like a timely film.  Whether you’re looking for it or not, it shines a light on current middle-class angst in a way that’s both intelligent and funny.  That it does so in such a delightfully sneering way is both a testament to Roach’s comedic sensibilities and a sign that studios are willing to make more overt political statements given the current socio-economic climate.  Dinner For Schmucks does for comedy what Up in the Air did last year for drama, articulating the frustrations of the recession in a way that should connect with mainstream audiences.  Despite its flaws, it hits more jokes than its misses, and at the very least the performances are memorable.  It might not go down in history as a classic comedy (or even the funniest film of the year), but as far as satire is concerned, this one’s definitely a winner.

Andrew Johnson is the host of MovieChatter, a weekly film discussion podcast headquartered in North Carolina.  He also occasionally blogs about film at The Kuleshov Effect.  Of all the opinions out there about the current state of cinema, he swears that his are the right ones.

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