The Boss, 2016.
Directed by Ben Falcone.
Starring Melissa McCarthy, Kristen Bell, Ella Anderson, Peter Dinklage, Tyler Labine, Cecily Strong, Kristen Schaal, Ben Falcone, and Kathy Bates.
SYNOPSIS:
A titan of industry is sent to prison after she’s caught for insider trading. When she emerges ready to rebrand herself as America’s latest sweetheart, not everyone she screwed over is so quick to forgive and forget.
Schmaltz, chicken fat melted as a basis to fry, is a mainstay amongst traditional Jewish cooking. It’s comically terrible for you, yet it’s brilliant, on everything. Try making Matzah Balls without Schmaltz, they taste like hair bobbles. It’s a vital part of Jewish cooking. Clearly, Melissa McCarthy and director/partner Ben Falcone adore schmatlz. The Boss, the lame, limp follow up to the similarly lame, limp Tammy comes drenched in chicken fat.
McCarthy stars as obnoxious, bafflingly popular Michelle Darnell, an entrepreneur and business speaker seemingly given the power to shout capitalist bullshit propaganda and anti-family sentiments at arenas full of Trump-alike-voters. After being caught inside trading and a brief stint in prison, she finds herself sleeping on the couch of her one-time PA Claire-played by a world weary Kristen Bell-with whom she all but physically abused during her employment. Whilst bringing Claire’s daughter to a scout meeting, Michelle decides to cash in on the burgeoning scout cookie market, and sets up her own bakery/scout/child labour troupe.
In Paul Blart: Mall Cop 2 (at least it wasn’t racist), Kevin James mines laughs almost exclusively from prat-falls; collapsing of a Segway, being kicked in the chest by a horse. Director Falcone – who I can only but presume McCarthy owes a life debt-similarly seems to think laughter stems only from a fall down a flight of stairs or a futon slamming up against the wall. Falls are/can be funny. Falls aren’t funny when thrown in with the same subtlety of placing a hand in a blender to break up awkward silence. At least Kevin James comes off as a somewhat lovable oaf.
Falcone struggles to find a clear and present tone, umming and erring between bitter and cloying with little care. Darnell’s misanthropy, supposedly born out of lack of parental figures as a child, is ultimately undone by the cine-equivalent of concentrating Tesco own brand cola. Emotional moments are less believable, more sheer desperation, as if Falcone and McCarthy are panicking in vague hope that something might stick.
And nothing sticks. A much advertised sequence involving a fight between two rival scout tropes is maybe the one slight chuckle in a film of deep, deep sighs. Peter Dinklage, who seems to justify his appearance in the vile Pixels by putting in a performance so lazy, it’s a miracle we don’t see him still dressed as Tyrion. Margot Martindale and Kathy Bates turn up for brief cameos most likely as a result of a desperate need for a kitchen refurbishment.
One of the great standout Simpsons moments found the ever reliable Dr. Nick, who whilst in the midst of performing a bypass on Homer, begins to sing, “the something’s connected to the red thing, the red thing’s connected to my wrist watch.” This is as close to The Boss as anything. It’s a patchwork of nothingness, a series of jokes with no real punch lines, characters that less resemble actual people, more apes attempting to learn what to be human is.
Flickering Myth Rating – Film: ★ / Movie: ★
Thomas Harris
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https://youtu.be/b7Ozs5mj5ao?list=PL18yMRIfoszEaHYNDTy5C-cH9Oa2gN5ng
