I have this buddy Jason. He’s one of those “Coolest guys I know” kind of characters. After a bad marriage disintegrated, Jason decided he was going to live in the reality of his own choosing. And that reality happened to involve Dean Martin records, martinis and a living room right out of a copy of the Uptown Living Fall 1958 Catalog. It’s hideous. And he loves it. This past weekend I was out furniture shopping with my wife and we came across a store that was selling this old school hipster furniture. Tucked away in the back was a mock den that looked as if it were pulled right out of one of Jason’s wet dreams. You could almost see the grit, grain and fuzzy, smudgy, out of focus photography of the classic Playboy shoot that took place on the couch. I smiled at my wife. “Oh my God, how bad would Jason want this den?”
“Yeah,” she laughed “but it’s not for us. Come on, that lamp is making me queasy.”
That den? That den is Leatherheads. It is not for everyone. It is for that special breed of person who often pines for another cinematic time and place. Persons like myself. And Harry. And Moriarty. Now that’s not to say that we don’t in any way enjoy the film styles of today – I think that’s pretty self evident at this point – but rather it is for those that occasionally like to go back. To experience an age when innuendo prevailed over raunch, when a screwball chase inevitably led to someone quick changing into their pursuers clothes, when a good joke was an incredibly subtle joke.
It is very clear what Clooney was thinking when he directed this thing. He’s made no bones about his intense love for the Coen’s and this movie definitely feels like he’s aping the period those two went through earlier this decade. Unfortunately for Clooney – and much like what the Coen’s later experienced – this doesn’t in any way capture the same kind of broad appeal that O Brother Where Art thou? managed. In fact it doesn’t feel anything at all like their films, despite seeming to try. Instead this feels more like the great 1998 indie classic The Imposters, which was another niche attempt at making a 30’s era screwball comedy – that time harking back to the screwball buddy movie.
I love The Imposters and I love this for all the same reasons. I love the return to a bygone era. I love that the film refuses to throw in some anachronisms or tries to get us to laugh at the ignorance or customs of the period. They aren’t winking at the camera every chance they get. Clooney legitimately is in love with the period of time he’s putting us in. And he legitimately loves the style of filmmaking.
Now, that said, anytime you make a movie that the people who love it feel the need to explain themselves, well, you’re in trouble. While I think this movie is very funny, and I adore its heart and its pining for the times of innocence, I can’t strongly recommend it. Not to anyone who isn’t already sold by now. It is a film that is so specific about what it is, it delivers little to those looking for something a little diffeent. Unlike the brilliant Down With Love which parodied the style of filmmaking while being in love with it, Clooney’s decision to play it straight both delivers a unique experience and narrows the band on the audience that will really get into this. Not that Down With Love had a broad appeal – but this one is even slimmer than that.
Now, I don’t think that many, if any people, are going to think this is a particularly bad film. Just that most will shrug not quite sure what to make of it. But if this has sounded in any way enticing or if the mention of The Imposters really rang your bell, then this is definitely worth a look. For what this is, it is perfectly executed – not on par with the greats of the era, but definitely on par with the really goods. But if a period screwball comedy sounds just a little whack to you – you might want to take a pass on this and leave that den where it belongs. In the dreams of others.
