So, having so deftly leapt out of the frying pan, imagine the disappointment when the real film, struggling to get out from the faux over-lay, turns out to be a routine Sunday Sickness matinee, spiced up at the end by a poorly worked in redemption scene. The closing, teary vibe has Ron Howard written all over it - just like Robin Williams can never escape the fact that he was Mork from Ork, Howard will for ever be Richie Cunningham, and this is every inch a film made by a mummy's boy from suburban Milwaukee. Not nearly enough Fonz in it for me.
Not exactly assisting matters is Horner's music, which offers the same subtle pleasure and impish inventiveness as his score for Titanic. That's sarcasm, folks.
Russell Crowe deserves a mention for portraying a dislikable geek & nutcase so well, never an easy stunt for a Hollywood hunk (Ralph Fiennes made a meal of the same job in Red Dragon), and Jennifer Connelly plays the long suffering spouse nicely. The last film I saw her in was Labyrinth, so she's come on a bit.
Ron Howard pulled a few pretty cool tricks, and ultimately this film is pleasant enough to watch. My only observation is that if this was good enough to win best Picture, it must have been a lousy year.
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