Last Kiss Review

Finally saw The Last Kiss, which had been on the to-watch list for some time. I contented myself to Netflixing it originally thanks to the poor reviews it got, even though I like the actors and am interested -- read: living -- the subject matter. But I was warned off by constant admonitions that the characters were selfish and self-absorbed and cruel and indifferent and immature and outrageous and unlikable. And, as I realize now, these reviewers would think I and everyone I hang out with is selfish and self-absorbed and cruel and indifferent and immature and outrageous and unlikable and, those reviewers may well be right, but I happen to like all these people and largely sympathize with the circumstances that make them such jerks, so the flick struck me as pretty good.

I've long been fascinated with the Zach Braff backlash, which strikes me as relying too much on a hipster distaste for people popularizing music that makes them feel cool. And in this move even more so. The reviews of this film used a lot of iPod and cell phone metaphors to denigrate the movie, but evaluating it through the prism of whether The Shins actually are indie is a bit off. Whatever resonance Braff has achieved comes from his willingness to treat the angst and oddity of being twentysomething seriously. And so the more substantive critique -- that of Braff's movies, rather than his persona-- features a lot of reviewers arguing that being a twentysomething isn't particularly angsty or odd, which may be true, but is really neither here nor there.

The Last Kiss is certainly one of the more relevant pictures I've seen to twentysomething dating, focusing not on how to act when you find the perfect partner, but how to feel when you may -- but may not! -- have found a right one. I've long argued that the really pernicious Hollywood visual isn't guns or sex, but romantic perfection that's written to appear mundane, and thus creates, slowly and insidiously, towering expectations for cute-meets and movie star looks and grand gestures and all the rest. Instead, the picture zooms in on what it's like to be in a good relationship that doesn't come with any cosmic confirmation of rightness, and in doing that, it's a ways above most entries in the genre. So: I liked it.

Update: From Peter Suderman's review:

Each of the characters fits into a different relationship stereotype, but they all share in clinging desperately to any last strand of immaturity. They fawn over strippers, plan random road trips, and converse like overgrown high-schoolers. When Michael breaks the news that he’s going to be a father, his stubbly, cigarette-smoking friend replies, “Now you’re having a baby? How intense is that?” as if having a baby were like playing a new Xbox game or a mastering a snowboarding trick. Adulthood, and the responsibilities it entails, are to be avoided at all costs; like a sulking mob of J. Crew-clad Peter Pans, these perpetual children refuse to grow up.

This seems to be what folks take away from the movie. But it's an odd interpretation. The stripper scene, for instance, comes during what's essentially a bachelor party. During it, one of the five guys breaks into tears over his recent break-up and Braff's character takes him outside to talk things over. That's the last we see of the strippers. The random road trip is the obvious -- and to some degree, derided -- escape of a particularly heartbroken, unstable character, and it's fairly clear his companion gives up something remarkable when his immaturity wins out and he signs on for the ride. And the word "intense" may be a generational thing. To my ears, it's a close analogue of, "That's unbelievable. How do you feel about it?" They are scared of adulthood, but they're scared of it, and they relate to that fear, and talk about that fear, in a way that's very recognizable to me and most anyone who knows urban twentysomethings.

It's worth saying, too, that at 29 or so, the main characters are dealing with marriage, pregnancy, and children -- fairly momentous occurrences. I have a number of friends right in that range -- indeed, Peter and I have a few mutual friends in that range -- who have avoided similar existential crises by simply eschewing or delaying such elements of adulthood altogether.

Update 2: I love Peter's reviews, and his interpretation of the movie was a big reason I put off seeing it, but I can't believe how much I disagree with his analysis:

The movie can’t decide whether it wants to portray the domestic life as prison or palace. On one hand, domesticity is what Michael pines for at the end of the film. But the movie also spends a lot of time showing us how trapped its characters are by their surroundings, and wants us to sympathize with Michael when he gives in to the seductions of Kim (Rachel Bilson), a cute young college student who woos Michael for no discernable reason other than plot necessity. When he hooks up with her, it’s obviously the move of a total jerk, but not in the movie’s enlightened view. He’s just experimenting, see? Trying to break free of his boring, regular life. . . . Oh, the horrors of moderate luxury and stability. (Fortunately, in the theater I was in, all of the women outside the press section booed when Michael finally kissed Kim.)

Oddly enough, the movie seems to think of itself as the antidote to the twenty-something culture of casual sexual dalliance. But it is far too timid and too dedicated to its cutesy tone to make its characters suffer any real consequences for their blithering narcissism. Instead, it lamely suggests that the problem with its characters’ frivolousness about sex and relationships isn’t what they’re doing, but the attitude with which they’re doing it. If only one has the strength of will to perform some dramatic act of apology, it seems to say, all will be fine and forgiven.

Where to begin? The hook up is a total mistake, and Michael looks like -- and rapidly feels like -- a fool. One of the movie's braver acts was letting their hook up go forwards a bit, rather than tearing it off after the first kiss. But while there's everything understandable about it, there's nothing laudable about it. As Michael himself says, he falters, makes a terrible mistake. But it's not an uncommon mistake, and it's commonly made for precisely the reasons Michael makes it: Because even a good life can feel overly-structured and predetermined, because the grass-is-always-greener, because the point of absolute certainty never arrives.

And the aftermath is all the worse. [spoilers] There's no actual reconciliation in the film, just the beginning of a long road towards it. The last scene isn't a kiss, or a hug, or even a conversation. It's clear that the intimate, trusting, kind relationship that opened the film is wrecked by the time the picture closes. Whether something can be rebuilt is totally uncertain, but it's clear that it will lack the innocence and joy of what has fallen. Michael is desperate to reconstruct his life, but the oft-spoken question, particularly by his partner, is whether doing so will even be worth it.