The Boat That Rocked

Elegy: Hopscotch

As Isabel Coixet's latest film Elegy became increasingly painful, my attention wandered to some notable sexual encounters in cinema. At first thought I came up with that memorable café scene featuring Meg Ryan's spontaneously simulated orgasm in When Harry Met Sally, and those extraordinary activities that went on in department store change rooms in Bad Santa. These came to mind because I was searching for something to make me laugh as a way of negating the misanthropic drudgery of this utterly humourless and potentially agonising home viewing experience. Elegy seems to be about an aging university professor, played by a committed Ben Kingsley, who uses meaningless sex as a way of avoiding meaningful human interaction until spicily named student Consuela Castillo enters his life and he somehow begins to appreciate the significance of connecting with an actual person. Penélope Cruz certainly plays her role well for various reasons. However, it all becomes a tad laborious. The narrative unfolds very, very slowly and the lengthy still shots featuring Kingsley's character grappling with his pitiful existence in a tastefully decorated apartment might have better suited a well scripted monologue. But his fragmented ramblings to ex-partners, aggrieved son and Penélope Cruz in the bedroom become ponderous to the point that I began to suffer. The sex scenes certainly have their place in a gratuitous art house kind of way, but I realised that I had run out of beer halfway through the viewing and I wasn't sure how I was going to cope with the rest of it. What went wrong? Initial reviews were mostly positive; a novel by Philip Roth and actor Dennis Hopper were both involved, and it deals with a potentially accessible theme. In the end, 'tasteful' close-ups of Penélope Cruz's undressed body dominate all other considerations. For a much better exploration of non-romanticised despair, I highly recommend Mike Leigh's 1993 masterpiece Naked.

I Love You, Man:

Bromantic comedy. Whether coined by a payroll PR peep or some dithyrambic journo, I like the term. And if ever there were a poster boy for the sub-genre, I Love You, Man is it. The premise is simple; epitomic Mr Nice Guy Peter Claven (Paul Rudd) is getting married, but soon realises he has no one to call Best Man. After a series of fruitless "man-dates," charming bohemian Sydney Fife (Jason Segel) saunters into his life. Is this the bromance he's been searching for?

This is a quite remarkable film; it's largely sans conflict (the drug of entertainment) yet enjoyable. Any trace is handled with light-hearted grace and is usually dissipated with honesty a scene, or even a line, later. Sweet, touching, genuine and, of course, funny are all apt reviewing adjectives. Even the inevitable "inmost cave" (coined by Hero's Journey author Joseph Campbell describing the moment when everything goes to shit three-quarters in before coming good again) is delightfully mild.

Sharp writing and lovable characters replace conflict. Paul Rudd, who is quickly cementing himself as one of my favourite actors, turns in another beautifully nuanced and understated performance, creating one of the more likable characters you'll see this year. He is ably matched by comic foil Segel, and this is where the film sets itself apart. Elsewhere, Segel's character would be the Hollywood-ised outrageous, over-the-top surfer dood caricature most likely played by an Adam Sandler or Rob Schneider. But in the hands of writers John Hamburg and Larry Levin, and Segel in the driving seat, we have a thoroughly stand-up guy and the film is refreshing and unexpectedly touching as a result. The only drawback from all this niceness is the conclusion doesn't quite have that fist-pumping retribution we're used to. But bollocks to that. Add winning cameos from favourite J K Simmons and Andy Samberg (Jizz in My Pants) and you have a delightful comedy you'd happily take home to your mother.