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The Whole Nine Yards,
2000. Directed by Jonathan Lynn. Bruce Willis, Matthew Perry, Amanda Peet,
Michael Clarke Duncan, Natasha Henstridge, Kevin Pollack, Rosanna Arquette.
Comedy often works best under the threat of death. I once
had a professor for a Shakespeare class that called this sort of thing
"Serious Relief." This explains, I think, the popularity of the "mob"
comedy, a sub-genre that includes movies from Some Like it Hot
to Married to the Mob. The Whole Nine Yards is the latest
entry in this sub-genre, in which mild mannered, hen-pecked dentist Matthew
Perry discovers that the man who just moved in next door (Willis) is actually
a mob hitman in disguise. Perry's shrewish wife sees this as an
opportunity and bundles him off to rat out Willis to the mob, while trying
to hire Willis to bump off her husband. Into this mix, we have Perry's
perky assistant who is "a big fan" of Willis's character, Willis's gorgeous
estranged wife, and the hitman in charge of taking Willis out. All of
this is set up to run like a screwball comedy. Sometimes it actually works
that way.
The Whole Nine Yards isn't a bad movie, really.
It is funny in fits and starts. But it is timid. It doesn't know how to
push amusing situations into outright hilarity. Part of this is how it
is filmed. If it had maintained the bizarre attention to detail that it
used for its credit sequence, it might have worked as a surreal comedy.
If it were a little more black hearted, it might work as a black comedy.
If it were pitched a little more broadly, it might work as a farce. As
it is, it works as a sitcom. In this respect, it is probably a perfect
vehicle for sitcom veteran Matthew Perry, who translates his Friends persona
more or less intact onto the big screen. It's amusing, but it isn't a
particularly good character. Willis is trading on his persona, too. He
has more charisma than Perry does, but less of a sense of comedy. The
actual characters are found in the supporting cast: Michael Clarke Duncan
is excellent as good-natured hit man Frankie the Finger Figeroa, and Amanda
Peet as Perry's assistant is some kind of comic marvel. Peet is given
one of the hardest kinds of scenes to play--a funny nude scene--and pulls
it off with aplomb.
The Whole Nine Yards's actual effect on the audience
is fairly subdued. It isn't gut-busting, but it never really wears out
its welcome. It doesn't make the audience cringe, although a little more
discomfort might be helpful. The movie would be a LOT better if it were
pricklier. In this respect, it resembles the last mob comedy that came
down the pipe: Analyze This. And like that movie, I sincerely doubt
that anyone is going to remember much about it ten years down the line.
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