'Trust the Man': Days of Whines and Poses
'Trust the Man': Days of Whines and @ washingtonpost.com
By Ann Hornaday
Washington Post Staff Writer
Friday, August 18, 2006; Page C05
Julianne Moore and Maggie Gyllenhaal wear a succession of fabulous coats, boots and nail polishes in "Trust the Man," a romantic roundelay set in the chic precincts of downtown Manhattan. Written and directed by Moore's real-life husband, Bart Freundlich, this urban romantic comedy has clearly been conceived as a showcase for Moore, here seen in the self-referential role of an actress whose career has eclipsed her husband's.
Often resembling the visual equivalent of name-dropping on the Web site Gawker Stalker, "Trust the Man" belies that cuteness with a string of alternately mordant and nasty comments on marriage and commitment. It might look like a little jewel on the outside, but once you open the velvet-lined box, watch out.
Moore plays Rebecca, who has just started rehearsals on a new play; her husband, Tom, a would-be writer played by David Duchovny, has agreed to be the John to her Yoko, staying home with their two kids. It's a great arrangement for her but not so inspiring for him, as his conversations with his best friend Tobey (Billy Crudup), Rebecca's brother, indicate. Together, the two men bemoan the scourge that is monogamy, with Tom living vicariously through Tobey as the latter resists marrying his live-in girlfriend, an aspiring children's author named Elaine (Gyllenhaal). Meanwhile, the girls are experiencing some flirtatious temptations of their own.
"Trust the Man" circles around the foursome as they whine and dine together, the women commiserating over lunches at Barney's, the boys making furtive complaints over blintzes on the Lower East Side. It's all very redolent of Woody Allen and such latter-day Manhattan miniaturists as Nicole Holofcener ("Walking and Talking") and Noah Baumbach ("The Squid and the Whale"). Indeed, with its self-conscious literary references and trendy settings (it's a veritable Zagat guide to hip eateries, from the Magnolia Bakery to Da Silvano and Serendipity), "Trust the Man" quickly begins to feel hopelessly derivative of other, better movies.
Lately Moore seems to have taken a page from Ashley Judd's career, appearing in a string of generic, instantly forgettable thrillers; "Trust the Man" returns her to the small canvas on which she first made her mark, most notably in Paul Thomas Anderson's "Boogie Nights" and "Magnolia." But Freundlich possesses none of Anderson's skills as a writer, and his attempts at edgy realness -- usually in the form of scatological and coarsely sexual humor -- land with an offensive thud.
Moore has her luminous moments, as she always does; she has a particularly pungent exchange with Crudup outside Lincoln Center. But too often Freundlich rushes her through the movie, especially when she delivers her most important speech -- in which Rebecca compares marriage to two people holding a stick. Gyllenhaal is bewitching here as a young woman who has finally stopped pushing the snooze button on her biological clock; her performance, as well as Moore's, make Duchovny and Crudup's all the more bizarre, as they scowl and yell their way through playing two barely reconstructed louts.
Supporting characters come and go without much consequence (James LeGros parachutes in to deliver a few genuine laughs as a smarmy alt-rock god), and the same can be said of the entire movie, in which scenes ping-pong aimlessly from richly appointed apartments to a Sexaholics Anonymous meeting to the de rigueur therapist's office. By the time "Trust the Man" arrives at its wildly contrived climax and self-congratulatory conclusion, audiences won't trust -- or believe -- a word of it.
Trust the Man (103 minutes, at area theaters) is rated R for profanity and sexual content.
By Ann Hornaday
Washington Post Staff Writer
Friday, August 18, 2006; Page C05
Julianne Moore and Maggie Gyllenhaal wear a succession of fabulous coats, boots and nail polishes in "Trust the Man," a romantic roundelay set in the chic precincts of downtown Manhattan. Written and directed by Moore's real-life husband, Bart Freundlich, this urban romantic comedy has clearly been conceived as a showcase for Moore, here seen in the self-referential role of an actress whose career has eclipsed her husband's.
Often resembling the visual equivalent of name-dropping on the Web site Gawker Stalker, "Trust the Man" belies that cuteness with a string of alternately mordant and nasty comments on marriage and commitment. It might look like a little jewel on the outside, but once you open the velvet-lined box, watch out.
Moore plays Rebecca, who has just started rehearsals on a new play; her husband, Tom, a would-be writer played by David Duchovny, has agreed to be the John to her Yoko, staying home with their two kids. It's a great arrangement for her but not so inspiring for him, as his conversations with his best friend Tobey (Billy Crudup), Rebecca's brother, indicate. Together, the two men bemoan the scourge that is monogamy, with Tom living vicariously through Tobey as the latter resists marrying his live-in girlfriend, an aspiring children's author named Elaine (Gyllenhaal). Meanwhile, the girls are experiencing some flirtatious temptations of their own.
"Trust the Man" circles around the foursome as they whine and dine together, the women commiserating over lunches at Barney's, the boys making furtive complaints over blintzes on the Lower East Side. It's all very redolent of Woody Allen and such latter-day Manhattan miniaturists as Nicole Holofcener ("Walking and Talking") and Noah Baumbach ("The Squid and the Whale"). Indeed, with its self-conscious literary references and trendy settings (it's a veritable Zagat guide to hip eateries, from the Magnolia Bakery to Da Silvano and Serendipity), "Trust the Man" quickly begins to feel hopelessly derivative of other, better movies.
Lately Moore seems to have taken a page from Ashley Judd's career, appearing in a string of generic, instantly forgettable thrillers; "Trust the Man" returns her to the small canvas on which she first made her mark, most notably in Paul Thomas Anderson's "Boogie Nights" and "Magnolia." But Freundlich possesses none of Anderson's skills as a writer, and his attempts at edgy realness -- usually in the form of scatological and coarsely sexual humor -- land with an offensive thud.
Moore has her luminous moments, as she always does; she has a particularly pungent exchange with Crudup outside Lincoln Center. But too often Freundlich rushes her through the movie, especially when she delivers her most important speech -- in which Rebecca compares marriage to two people holding a stick. Gyllenhaal is bewitching here as a young woman who has finally stopped pushing the snooze button on her biological clock; her performance, as well as Moore's, make Duchovny and Crudup's all the more bizarre, as they scowl and yell their way through playing two barely reconstructed louts.
Supporting characters come and go without much consequence (James LeGros parachutes in to deliver a few genuine laughs as a smarmy alt-rock god), and the same can be said of the entire movie, in which scenes ping-pong aimlessly from richly appointed apartments to a Sexaholics Anonymous meeting to the de rigueur therapist's office. By the time "Trust the Man" arrives at its wildly contrived climax and self-congratulatory conclusion, audiences won't trust -- or believe -- a word of it.
Trust the Man (103 minutes, at area theaters) is rated R for profanity and sexual content.