Yuppies Love Paying for Sitcoms
By the time Trust the Man opens this weekend, it will have been nearly a year since it debuted at the Toronto International Film Festival, where it was picked up for distribution by Fox Searchlight. Forget that it's a year old: This thing tastes a good decade past its expiration date, perhaps because it plays like a pilot version of Woody Allen's Husbands and Wives that has been watered down for mass consumption. Bart Freundlich (The Myth of Fingerprints, Catch That Kid) writes with a sitcom ear; the actors deliver their lines as though they're waiting for the laugh track to catch its breath. And he directs with a television eye; he doesn't care where he aims the camera, as long as at least one of his leads is somewhere in the picture.
All that would be forgotten if Freundlich brought a whiff of originality and a smidgen of heart to the proceedings, but his is a romantic comedy sans romance and bereft of comedy. To the discussion of relationships and how they go stale and suffer, Freundlich adds nothing but smart-ass echoes and soggy plaints, the stuff of prime-time reruns. And the people who populate his movies are archetypes at best and cutouts at worst—the sarcastic, selfish, and vacuous who fill Hollywood movies and don't need alleged indies to mimic their wearying behavior.
David Duchovny and Julianne Moore (she's married to Freundlich, so at least she has an out) are Tom and Rebecca, a married couple on the downside of their vows. He's a former ad man who has switched to being a stay-at-home daddy, a gig of which he's not quite as fond. She's a movie actress stooping to conquer the Lincoln Center stage, and she has lost all sexual interest in Tom, to the point where she flinches if he so much as touches her. How has it gotten this way? No idea. The filmmaker never goes deeper than a scene with the couple's therapist (Garry Shandling) in which he advises them to try it "doggy-style."
Precisely why Tom quit to stay home is never really addressed. If it was to spend time with the two kids, then why do we rarely see him with the children? And if it was because of financial considerations...well, they didn't exactly ditch the nanny or move out of their palatial Pottery Barn digs. It's nitpicky shit like that that makes Trust the Man so frustrating and unpleasant: If the filmmaker doesn't care enough about these people to explain who they are or why they act the way they do, then why should we invest a second's worth of interest in their petty pursuits? In the end, Freundlich makes Tom a stay-at-home dad just so the guy can jerk off to internet porn and, later, bump into the hottest mom in history (Dagmara Dominczyk) and begin the affair that upends his life—by which I mean it teaches him a few guilty lessons about how he can't live without Rebecca, blah blah blah.
Rebecca and Tom's problems aren't enough for the movie: They're mirrored by Rebecca's brother Tobey (Billy Crudup), a remote-control slacker locked in a seven-year go-nowhere relationship with Elaine (Maggie Gyllenhaal), an aspiring children's book writer who has so little faith in her abilities or instincts that she's charmed by Tobey's worthless ways. Of course, they, too, have sex issues—and can't stop talking to each other about them, the men and women pairing off to make glib, high-speed chitchat about how they want it, need it, can't get enough, don't give enough, and on and on until Trust the Man morphs into a turgid art-house episode of Dr. Phil.
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