Review Copyright Rose Cooper, 2003

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I have no idea what movie the L.A. Critics Society - which named it best of 2002 - watched. Pardon my french, but the About Schmidt that I watched wasn't about shit. I must, however, give big ups to Kathy Bates. That took balls, hon. THE STORY (WARNING: **spoilers contained below**) Warren Schmidt (Jack Nicholson) is a mess. Newly (and unhappily) retired at 60, he finds himself supremely unhappy with his new life as a layabout. His harpy wife Helen (June Squibb) can't breathe without irritating him. And worse, his only daughter Jeannie (Hope Davis) is soon to marry into Trailer Trash Heaven, in the guise of waterbed salesman Randall Hertzel (Dermot Mulroney), Randall's opinionated mother Roberta (Kathy Bates), brow-beaten father Larry (Howard Hesseman), and space cadet brother Duncan (Mark Venhuizen). Yes, Warren Schmidt is a man traveling through Life, The Universe, and Everything, without his Towel. When he suddenly finds himself all alone, Warren decides to drive to his daughter's wedding in Denver, much to her surprise. Hitting the road in his humongous motorhome, Warren takes a few trips down Memory Lane along the way, to discover if The Answer is, indeed, 42. He gets help solving that particular equation from an unlikely source: cathartic letters he writes to a Tanzanian child he decided to sponsor (for 73 cents a day, $22 a year), after seeing a "Save The Children"-type TV commercial. THE UPSHOT I suppose I should say something nice here about Jack Nicholson's uncustomary Everyman performance, reminiscent in look and feel (but not in watchability) to Dustin Hoffman's Rainman turn. True, it was quite unlike the wacked-out Nicholson we've come to know and...er, love...throughout his stay in Hollywood (and no worries; trailers like the one for Anger Management suggest that Wacky Jack will be back, and soon). Sure, there were some interesting bits in the movie, especially between Nicholson and the ballsy Kathy Bates. And ok, I admit, that moving closing scene was pretty powerful; it was a great payoff for some of what went on previous to it. But "interesting bits, especially the moving closing scene" just does not make up for the torture I was subjected to during the other 120 minutes of this 124 minute movie. If I wanted a travelogue of boredom, I would've watched an infomercial, not this snooze-worthy flick. If this is what Nicholson acting his age is like, then please; no mas. Now I know how The Diva felt when she yellow-lighted American Beauty a few years back. I don't mind movies about Dysfunction and Self-Discovery; but please, make it interesting next time, eh? THE "WHITE MALE FACTOR"    [ObDisclaimer: They Are Not A Monolith] It must be hard being a White Man In America. No, I mean it. They have no organized groups rallying for them...well, unless you count the Klan, Skinheads, Corporate America, the White House...but other than that, hmm. They have to keep looking over their shoulders, lest Yet Another Minority accuses them of being the Evil! Oppressor! of us all. And even retirement doesn't provide much relief; they get to re-live the angst of non-fulfillment they thought they left behind in high school when they couldn't quite get past 2nd base with Mary Jane Rottencrotch. So I'll not pile on to the White Man's Burden here; I will not obsess over the use of Ndugu as Magical Negro in this film, unlike some of my Colleagues Of Color. After all, once I got past my initial eye-rolling exercise, I realized that Ndugu came out smelling like roses, compared to the sad sack that was Warren Schmidt. Poor man; he couldn't help his utter lack of clue. BAMMER'S BOTTOM LINE Whatever altered-state substance the L.A. Critics Society et al were on when they gushed over About Schmidt, pass it over here. On second thought...don't. ABOUT SCHMIDT:   back to top And that's the way I see it. Rose "Bams" Cooper 3BlackChicks Review™ Copyright Rose Cooper, 2003 EMAIL: bams@3blackchicks.com    ICQ: 7760005 http://www.3blackchicks.com/