Stuck on You (2003, Peter Farrelly & Bobby Farrelly) (Patreon)

70/100

Second viewing (last seen just prior to its original theatrical release), no change. Didn't write a review for Time Out New York—looks like I picked Big Fish instead that week, having not yet given up on Burton despite the travesty that was his Planet of the Apes—but I found a quick reaction post that I made on the nerd group: 

Meanwhile, the big surprise for me this holiday season is Stuck on You, which is only fitfully amusing as a comedy (though still funnier than any previous Farrelly effort I've seen) but turns out to be surprisingly potent on a metaphorical level. Michael Atkinson's review in the Voice makes a strong case, but I'd take his ideas even further: In the guise of ridiculing one taboo, the film tackles a much bigger one (at least for Hollywood), examining the dynamics of a long-term (implicitly romantic) relationship and acknowledging that love, intimacy and familiarity, while necessary, come with a severe price. The Farrellys don't fully commit themselves to this subtext (though there's a moment near the end [one word: Bread] that makes it very clear that they fully intend it), but they nonetheless mine a number of painfully funny and absurdly touching images from it, including the most resonant walk since David Thewlis determinedly hobbled his way out of Mike Leigh's Naked. I'd sure as hell rather see this again than, say, Shoot the Moon. Was it Cowen who was all but begging people to give Shallow Hal a chance a couple years back? Sorry bud, clearly I was remiss.

That's Ed, what the fuck is up with that ending? Is there a joke that I'm missing, or is it just random looniness?

Caught up with Shallow Hal a few years later and was less impressed. Stuck on You, however, remains an anomalous treat—far and away the most conceptually absurdist Farrelly joint, in a way that also makes it their most poignant. Maybe it's the dire state of studio comedies these days, but "fitfully amusing" now seems harsh; while there are plenty of hit-and-miss conjoined-twins gags, "One wants to be a professional actor and the other suffers from severe stage fright" never stops paying dividends, especially once Cher (weirdly stiff, but a good sport) launches her Producers-style scheme, forcing Griffin Dunne (same) to shoot Walt via awkward angles that keep Bob and his hyperventilation out of frame. (Honey and The Beaze would be more plausible as an '80s show, but I laughed again at that title's typically terrible "pun" all the same.) Damon and Kinnear lean into the introvert/extrovert dynamic, exemplified by Walt attempting to help out on Bob's first date with May by bringing up Annie Hall's "let's just kiss now" bit, only to have Bob chime in with his enthusiasm for Christopher Walken's ultra-creepy cameo. Much more my speed than getting your nuts stuck in a zipper. At two hours, the film does run long, and I don't think it needed the lengthy subplot that sees Bob try to hide his physical attachment to Walt; the Farrellys, to their credit, aren't particularly interested in having either of the brothers overcome any misfit-toy self-esteem issues, and really just use that dilemma as an excuse for dumb jokes (though I'd hate to lose Walt disguised as a gigantic teddy bear). All in all, though, I'll happily defend this as a pure comedy, and wish Dumb and Dumber had a throwaway exchange half as good as Seymour Cassel's unscrupulous agent noting that he gets 25% for his ostensible services, Bob indignantly demanding to know what Walt gets in return, and the agent replying, with just a hint of duh, "75%." 

Still, what's most germane here is my predilection for films that examine readily identifiable human behavior via extravagant metaphor. In many respects, Stuck on You functions much like The Duke of Burgundy, albeit in a very different genre: Both are fundamentally about the difficulty of long-term intimacy, employing an extreme scenario to tackle fairly mundane relationship issues. My reference to Alan Parker's Shoot the Moon 19 years ago suggests that I perceived this as a movie about divorce (or trial, uh, separation), and it's not incidental, as I also noted back then, that Walt plays Bread's "Baby I'm-a Want You" on the jukebox upon returning. (Bob's response to this would be unthinkable in a big-budget movie today, and would inspire angry thinkpieces even in a no-budget indie; can't recall whether it troubled me or many others at the time. Just know that it was a different world, young people.) Doesn't have to be romantic, in any case—what's valuable is the imaginative visual conception of a universal emotion. Even before the operation, Bob and Walt move in tiny symbolic circles whenever they argue, as each instinctively attempts to pivot away from the other. But it's afterwards, when we can literally see them struggling to compensate for the absence of a pressure against which they'd long since built their entire world, that the goofiness acquires an undercurrent of real melancholy. Crucially, this eases up over time, in the same agonizingly gradual way that people recover from a breakup or death or relocation: Walt starts out holding his right arm stiffly at his side, eventually loosens up until he looks more or less like anybody else, yet keeps returning to snuggle up against the bench statue, restore that comforting presence. None of this is remotely difficult to interpret, but being obvious doesn't make it any less potent. Sometimes, coming at the behavior/condition/phenomenon from an unexpected angle is all that's required. 

That's Ed, what the fuck is up with that ending? Is there a joke that I'm missing, or is it just random looniness?

(Sure, "musical Bonnie and Clyde" is kinda funny, and "starring Meryl Streep" is kinda funny, but the finale keeps going long after that initial absurdist frisson has been exhausted, and I just don't get why e.g. "Summertime" is supposed to be specifically hilarious in this context.)