“The Way, Way Back” is the kind of summer comedy that throws enough curve balls at you to make what’s old, new again. A tad dark around the edges and sophomoric in the middle, it’s a sweetly affecting coming of age drama with flourishes of Wes Anderson and even the Farrelly brothers: which should be as no surprise, as it’s co-written and co-directed by Nat Faxon and Jim Rash, the pair, who along with (director) Alexander Payne, received an Oscar for penning the effectively droll George Clooney comedy, “The Descendants.”

The surprise here is Steve Carell who plays against his usual big screen persona as a feckless nice guy and is more like his irritable jerkwater boss on the NBC’s hit series “The Office.” His Trent, a middle-aged divorcee, decides to bring his new girlfriend Pam (Toni Collette) down to his summer house on the shore of some idyllic and fictional Massachusetts beach town. In tow are Trent’s diva daughter (Zoe Levin) and Pam’s introverted son, Duncan (Liam James).  “The Brady Bunch” this is not.

From the onset, Pam feels out of place among all of Trent’s boozing beach buddies, and Duncan wanders about an eternal outcast, though he harbors an adoring eye for the slightly sassy girl next door (AnnaSophia Robb) who he feels is out of his league because she pals around with his prospective stepsister. As the pat vacation has it, Pam cooks, Trent invites his gang over and they all drink until they pass out. On top of all that Trent has a wandering eye and a penchant for belittling Duncan. In short, the adults are the ones behaving badly while away.

Sick of the indulgent malaise, Duncan covertly takes up a job at the Water Wizz amusement park, where the other half (townies and the cheap seat vacationers) roll in to find their slice of summer Eden. The whacky park manger (Sam Rockwell) fills in as an unconventional but effective older brother figure and instills Duncan with the necessary self-esteem to approach Susanna (Robb).

The awkward intermingling of Susanna and Duncan is palpable, and moving enough, as they try to find a connection and navigate their youthful angst — which is continually exacerbated by their parents’ dysfunctions and need for alcohol. Pam’s dilemma too, as a lonely single mother looking for her chapter two, also affects. Collette, always on her mark,  gives a subtle but nuanced performance in the fairly thankless role and her two younger stars, Robb and James, also shine (and their work here should bear greater fruit down the line, especially for Robb, who’s a gifted young actress imbued with a splash of Lolita).

If there’s any shortcoming to the film, it’s that the two first-time directors try to do too much. You can almost imagine their excited ardor during their bull sessions while penning the script; but, when it came time to shoot they just didn’t have the discerning eye of an impartial third party to help shape, hone and cut. Ultimately the film settles on Duncan and his quest to find himself and some solace during the summer from Hell, yet it is also about Pam and her desires, and the arrogant Trent and his freewheeling beach crowd and their antithesis over at the Water Wizz — which has its own set of zany characters (Maya Rudolp, Faxon and Rash in bit parts). And that’s not even mentioning Trent’s perennial partners in crime Kip (Rob Corddry) and Joan (Amanda Peet) who have truckloads of baggage and closets full of skeletons and Betty next door (Alison Janney, who pretty much walks off with every scene she’s in), Susana’s mom and a widow, who wakes up making margaritas before breakfast and ridicules the heinousness of her son’s lazy eye openly in public. It’s just too busy, and the rompish silliness over at the Water Wizz sometimes feels like a stilted vignette from the woeful “Grown Ups,” which also was shot in Massachusetts and has a sequel coming out later this summer.

“The Way, Way Back,” which refers to the rear facing seat of Trent’s classic station wagon, has big ambition, lots of heart and a tricky knee.

—- Tom Meek / Meek at the Movies



“The Heat” is funnier than it should be. Part of that’s because director Paul Feig has a way of taking flimsy ideas and strong comedic actors and creating lightning in a bottle. He did it with Melissa McCarthy and Kristen Wiig in “Bridesmaids” and does so again here. If there’s any doubt that it’s more the actors than Feig, I’ll simply point to McCarthy’s recent woeful outing in “Identity Theft.” It’s not so much what he does with the material but the chemistry he educes between his stars and how they build something infectious from thin setups.
The premise behind “The Heat,” which was shot in in our glorious city of Boston — though it doesn’t look so much like the Boston that you and I know — is pretty much the same old comedic cop-buddy story that was popularized by Eddie Murphy and Nick Nolte in “48hrs,” and, later, by Mel Gibson and Danny Glover in the “Lethal Weapon” series. Except that here, the oddball pairing is women, and the focus is more on the funny than the dark and grim — hough people do get shot in the head aplenty, and blood does spurt.

Sandra Bullock puts in a willing and able effort as FBI Special Agent Ashburn, bouncing from nerd to sex pot and even to drunkard. Ashburn’s a by-the-book agent seeking a promotion, but ego, arrogance and lack of people-skills stand in her way. To get ahead she’s got to nab a faceless drug king in Boston and to do so, she must accomplish it with the aid of a portly and potty-mouthed detective (McCarthy) with less people skills than herself. McCarthy’s Mullins takes a longtime to warm up to, because like her hacker role in “Identity Theft,” she’s insensitive, over-bearing and uses the F-word to qualify everything. It almost tanks the movie early on, but the friction with Bullock’s straight lace heats up fast.
Mullins is one mean dog, there are few perps on the street or colleagues in her precinct that are willing or able to tangle with her. It’s her brother (Michael Rappaport), who’s a small fish in the local drug trade that is her Achilles-heel wound of sensitivity.

The silly hi-jinks mostly come when Mullins and Ashburn wind up in some nightspot. One scene has the pair at an upscale club where they are trying to bug an underling of the drug lord. They have to sex-it-up to get close (“You’re the hottest woman over forty,” a slick-haired baddie notes of Bullock), and later the duo bond in an Irish dive bar where Bullock and McCarthy dance poorly to lost 90s classics, down gallons of shots and form a conga line of septuagenarians.

The funniest kicks however come from Mullins’s family. The “Bahston” accent is right on, the house is decorated with velour dunking/homerun/touchdown Jesus paintings, and SNL legend Jane Curtin plays the tough-as-nails matriarch. The whole drug lord angle is just an excuse for Mullins to make jokes about Ashburn’s un-used loins and Ashburn to respond with lines like “that is a gross misrepresentation of my vagina.” What’s not to like about Felix and Oscar toting guns and fueled by estrogen? It ain’t heavy, and it ain’t sharp, but it is funny and Feig does it all on a half a tank of gas.

— Tom Meek / Meek at the Movies