[yasr_overall_rating]
A jazz pianist makes a discovery days before the death of his wife that causes him to believe his sixty-five year marriage was a lie. He embarks on an exploration of his own past that brings him face to face with a menagerie of characters from a bygone era.
There is no doubting Jerry Lewis’ status as an American entertainment legend. An actor, filmmaker and comedian, he’s arguably most famous for slapstick fare like “The Bellboy” and the original “The Nutty Professor” (both of which he also wrote and directed), as well as his team-up with Dean Martin on over a dozen films in the 1950s. Lewis gave his last truly memorable on-screen performance in Martin Scorsese’s 1983 classic “The King of Comedy.” Now, in Daniel Noah’s “Max Rose,” the 90-year-old Jerry Lewis makes a comeback of sorts, headlining his first film in over 20 years (I’m referring to Peter Chelsom’s 1995 critical bomb/box-office disaster “Funny Bones”). Unfortunately, despite good intentions, the film gets bogged down by a somnambulant pace, manipulative moments and a distinct lack of originality.
Max (Lewis) is an aging actor from Hollywood’s Golden Age, whose wife Eva (Claire Bloom) just passed away. His granddaughter Annie (Kerry Bishé, in a delicate performance) takes care of the old man; she tries to make him laugh at lame jokes, in an attempt to rekindle the spark in his eye. Max prefers to spend time alone, reading a Roosevelt biography, listening to records and going over his life’s memorabilia. His son Chris (a scaled-back Kevin Pollack) comes to visit with comedy DVDs, but Max kicks him out. “I’m 87 years old and I lost my Eva,” Max says at her funeral, “but the truth is, I lost her a long time ago.” He concludes by stating that it wasn’t Eva’s fault, for she thought she married a better man, and he’s “a failure.”
Max is visited frequently by Eva’s apparitions. “I feel better calling your name,” he says into the void in a touching scene, before Annie brings him back to bed. Haunted by his wife’s 65-year infidelity, Max “has to know ‘why’.” He ends up in an elderly home, run by Ms. Flowers (a welcome-albeit-underused turn from the always-reliable Illeana Douglas). “I’m here to try to help you find a little bit of happiness,” she says. He reluctantly socializes with the other inhabitants and participates in the home’s activities. Family issues intertwine with Max digging up the past, until it all culminates with a confrontation between Max and Eva’s lover, Ben Tracey (a sardonic Dean Stockwell), the latter stating bitterly, “You don’t know how disappointed I am. I was hoping you would go first.”
If all that doesn’t sound like a roller coaster ride of storytelling efficiency, it’s because it’s not. Let’s start with the good news. Jerry Lewis is magnificent, the decades of experience evident in his sad eyes; in the most desolate performance of his career, he’s an embodiment of past glories, of regret and memories and nostalgia, of wisdom accumulated through a lifetime of remarkable achievements. Though he technically plays a character called Max Rose, we are really watching Jerry Lewis, in a retrospective showcase, the line between his on-screen persona and real-life – sarcastic, gentle and silly – man increasingly blurry.
The issues lies in the fact that the film doesn’t use that blurriness to its advantage. At times it feels like it tries, in the parallels between Max’s past and his real-life counterpart’s. But “Max Rose” could have been a fascinating study structured around that man, a film that on the surface was about aging and reconciliation, but if one were to dig deeper, would reveal itself to be an in-depth study of its protagonist, a reflection of a real-life legend. Though at times tender, eloquent and clearly well-meaning, the movie falters, pandering to its audiences with manipulative tactics – such as an oppressive soundtrack, or scenes like the one where Annie makes her grandpa laugh with a clown nose and 5th-grade jokes – instead of scaling back and letting the actor’s eyes do the speaking.
The film has trouble establishing a mood, unless you count its suffocatingly dismal tone as one. The film drags; there’s little momentum or novelty to the proceedings. The actors all do well, but their characters aren’t fleshed out enough for us to truly emphasize. There’s a scene in the middle where Chris sells Max’s home and then tries to get his father to say that he loves him that feels particularly grating and incoherently structured. On top of that, there are some clumsy editing and shot composition choices – the film’s production values leave much to be desired. Its morose ending is morally questionable.
The film does catch some nuances of what it must be like to go through twilight years – a demographic rarely addressed – especially in scenes where Max is having trouble with an electric can opener, or his inability to connect with his own family after opening up to an audience full of strangers. The highlight comes when Max hangs out with his friends, just shooting the shit, discussing death and reminiscing about the past. The film could’ve used more of that scene’s jazzy vibe, levity, improvisational feel and honesty.
Michael Haneke’s “Amour” or Paolo Sorrentino’s “Youth” are two recent meditations on aging that happen to be more assured, subtle and generally mesmerizing than “Max Rose,” which is about a man trying to come to terms with his past before he passes away. It could have been so much more. As a showcase of a legendary American stalwart, I guess you could also do worse. And yet “Max Rose” is too claustrophobic and been-there-done-that to truly recommend. “Did you hear about the restaurant on the moon?” Max asks Annie at one point, in another wistful nod to his real-life counterpart. “They serve good food, but no atmosphere.” The joke can be applied to this film: there’s some good food, but no atmosphere.
In theaters Friday, September 2nd
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