Better In Your Head?--THIS IS WHERE I LEAVE YOU

 

Spoiler Alert: being "the baby of the family" is the absolute worst.

THE BOOK-Written by Jonathan Tropper, released 2009

THE MOVIE-Directed by Shawn Levy, written by Jonathan Tropper, released 2014

THE STORY-The fight: Morton Foxman vs. Cancer. The result: sadly predictable. To honor the lesser combatant, his adult children sit shiva at their childhood home. 

MIND THE GAP-Foxman in the book, Altman in the movie. Besides that, not much is changed. Family gatherings are fucking ghoulish. Judd is the self-proclaimed "last nice guy," fresh off finding his wife banging the boss. Phillip is a top-tier leech, a real "love 'em and leave 'em wanting more" guy. Paul is an infertile ex-jock. Wendy, the only daughter, is a resigned, relapsed romantic whose workaholic husband is only the second-most repulsive character. Professional bunglers, come begrudgingly together, to bond and boo-hoo and seek satisfactory answers to life's hand-me-down questions.

The book is told through Judd's POV. Midway through chapter one, the reader's opinion on the author's decision should be fully formed.

Several great side characters are sacrificed in the name of cinematic cohesion. I lament Tropper's subsequent failure to publish a short-story collection dedicated to each shiva visitor.

Check the cast: Jason Bateman, Tina Fey, Jane Fonda, Adam Driver, Corey Stoll, Connie Britton, Dax Shepard, Kathryn Hahn. Each flaunts their respective formidable repertoires inside a whirlpool of half-baked emotion and unnatural tones. Given the plum role of Judd, Bateman suffers as a faithful recreation of his shapeless counterpart (his hangdog expression, an oxytocin boost for certain broads, hardly suggests a wry every-guy on the brink of a disastrous decision). Given the rutabaga role of Phillip, Driver's line readings and physicality left me longing to watch whatever movie he thought he was acting in. Fey, as usual, is best preparing her own meals.

Visiting your childhood home is the thing to do if you plan on doing absolutely nothing else of substance for the remainder of the day.

The book's Jane Fonda reference didn't make the script. Restraint! Like the time I noticed a partially-open pizza box atop my neighbor's trash bin and saw a saucy pie inside, one slice missing. I quelled the urge to grab, go, and gobble--and that is why I am always a game or two above .500 in the sport of life.

It's a brutal business, being a woman. No shit, fuckface.

BETTER IN YOUR HEAD-Should one of my unborn novels grow into a movie, I will gladly sever the tether and spare myself the torment. Editing a book from 100,000 words to 80,000 is difficult enough. Cutting down to 20,000 words might catapult me to a pre-verbal state. Tangents must fall to the wayside like so much sun-damaged skin. Flashbacks are banished to a shabby-bottomed box. Side characters vaporize into the fog of forgotten souls. 

Perhaps sensing the ultimate futility of his quest (revisit/rekindle/retread), Tropper ran rhino into a barrel, piercing wood and sending skinny streams of water down the side. 

Mind, the blame for turning an engaging wince-along into a fingerpaint-by-numbers family portrait is shared. Directors, as per industry rule, must ask for Alan Smithee. I believe certain directors should have Alan Smithee thrust upon them. Shawn Levy's career trajectory from actor in baloney bombs to producer/director of popular piffle is worthy of an extended video essay courtesy one of those diction dandies on YouTube. He occupies such a well-defined space that whenever he breaches its blatant borders, the result is either lint-lickingly poor (The Internship) or blood-suckingly awesome (Stranger Things). This Is Where I Leave You is typical of his output. Meaning, I'm unsure whether or not I actually watched the thing.