Flirting with Disaster

With Ben Stiller, Patricia Arquette, Téa Leoni
Written and Directed by David O. Russell
(Miramax)
by Scott Hefflon

Mel Coplin (Stiller), a neurotic New Yorker orphaned at birth, wants to find his real parents in order to name his newborn and clear up a few “identity issues” he has. A sexy adoption counselor (Téa Leoni) goes along to document the reunion, and, well, the fun starts before the opening credits have even finished. Stiller is, as usual, hopelessly indecisive and touchingly uptight, practically the personification of the sensitive male syndrome and all its contradictory subtleties. Patricia Arquette plays the motherly wife whose buoyant boobs compensate for her not being nearly as to-die-for as in True Romance. (Ya don’t see Stiller poppin’ a cap in no dread-headed dirtbag’s ass for her, now do ya?) Both play sweet, if-this-is-what-you-want-this-is-what-I-want saps surrounded by a bunch of loony, self-absorbed people masquerading as family. Mary Tyler Moore, aside from showing us her age-defying breasts (in a bra), plays an over-protective mother/monster like you only read about. Then, through a series of mishaps, Mel meets an amazon family which he’s not a part of, a snaky trucker (David Patrick Kelly) who’s not his dad, yet did know the Dead groupie mom (Lily Tomlin) and his scientifically-inclined “needledick” dad (Alan Alda). After accidentally driving a semi through a post office (hey, these things happen), some government suits, through a strange series of events, take some vacation time to tag along on the Quest for Mel’s Real Parents.

And from there, things get really wacky. That’s a polite way of saying, “Good lord, this movie is getting stupid.” One of the irksome qualities of the movie is the almost meticulous turnaround time on the jokes. A situation occurs, then within ten minutes another situation occurs that discredits/pokes-fun-at the first. Har har; see, the dog hid the keys, and stuff like that. Sure saves the viewer the trouble of remembering anything or potentially missing a single joke. It’s as time-released as good gelcapped medicine. And about as clinically proven. Sure, there are some great moments, usually when a character is really publicly embarrassing himself or caught with his pants down (the armpit appreciation scene is not one I’ll forget any time soon), but the interaction between characters loses its dynamic as the situations become more and more absurd. The exception that proves the rule is the relationship between Mel’s real parents (Tomlin and Alda). The way they communicate, the give and take, the supportiveness without butting in on each other as they tell a story together, is similar to the close bond we’d like to think a long-term, happily married couple should share. Beautifully acted.

In the end, Flirting with Disaster is an over-the-top situation comedy which takes each situation and pushes it way over the top. Just as you’re getting used to one outlandish turn of events, another whaps you on the head. This may be called nonstop laughs or spinning hysterically out of control, but each Ah-ha! that occurs as a character evolves loses impact amidst all the clutter.