Disclaimer: I have never read any books by the late David Foster Wallace, not even the source material for this film. In some ways, I really wish I had, because maybe then I would be able to appreciate at least some of John Krasinski's shapeless adaptation. Krasinski has professed an admiration for Wallace as a writer, so there's no doubt that he was fully invested in the project, but sadly the result, whether due to the subject material not lending itself well to film, or Krasinski's awkward narrative structure, is underwhelming at best, despite hitting a few quick high notes.
It opens on a man known only as subject #41. We don't hear the question he's being asked (which is apparently similar to the book, which contains an empty "Q" followed by pages of "A"), but we do hear him talk about how he has a strange tendency to shout, "victory for the forces of democratic freedom!" during sex. The scene is a curious one. Is this supposed to be funny? Was it funny on the page, and it's simply the fault of the direction and/or actor? It's hard to tell. This man is just one of many subjects who we're bombarded with over the brisk hour and 20 minute running time, and it rarely, if ever, goes uphill. But what's the story, you ask? Surely the film has SOME loose sense of narrative at the very least. Actually...no. And apparently that's more of a narrative than the book. The film is about a grad student (Julianne Nicholson) who has been through a wrenching break-up, and sets out to find out what makes men tick via a series of interviews. And when do we find this out? The beginning? Nope. The middle? Nuh-uh. Try the very friggin' end. Worse, it adds nothing to the "plot" at all. The revelation of the purpose of the interviews provides no "aha!" moment of insight or irony...it's just a tidy way to end the film. And remember folks, this is MORE of a narrative than in the book. Krasinski had to create this odd framing device, which is totally absent in the novel.
Not helping matters is the general bland dreariness that pervades each sequence, ranging from two breast-obsessed business men (Chris Meloni and Dennis O'Hare) to an overbearing student who won't leave our protagonist alone (Dominic Cooper) to a man struggling to find a woman who isn't freaked out by his disfigured arm (Bobby Cannavale). Those interviews (some of which aren't interviews, they just appear near Nicholson and are suddenly given a Subject #?? label) meant to be funny inspire little more than a weak "ha", and those meant to be insightful or touching don't register. Even the film's best segment, a lengthy monologue by Krasinski himself as Nicholson's ex, comes off as long-winded as opposed to emotionally potent or revealing (worse is that Krasinski's character actually says out loud, "I'm here bearing my soul in front of you!"; show, not tell, Mr. Krasinski). And this is the film's high point. On the opposite end of the spectrum are "interviews" with those like Frankie Faison, whose segment goes on and on and on, and adds absolutely nothing on any level.
Tonally lifeless, blandly acted, and lacking any sense of charm, wit, irony, or satire, "Brief Interviews with Hideous Men" manages to describe both its best and worst attributes in its title. It is brief, but at times quite hideous. My friend who I saw the film with, said that he found the film flawed, but overall liked, or at least admired it, because he knew the source material. Unfortunately, for those of us not familiar with Wallace's work, the film, brief as it is, simply isn't worth a trip to the theater.
Grade: C/C-
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