The Shape of Things (*1/2)
review by Jon Waterman

A nerdy college guy gets the nerve to ask out a hip, artsy, beautiful woman and she says yes. They start a relationship that changes everything about his life. Now he must deal with the reactions of his friends while still maintaining the interest of this dream girl.

Alright. This story takes place in college. That means we are supposed to believe that the people we are watching are of college age. Our actors are 30 years old and up. Great casting, Neil!

On a serious note, though: Great casting, Neil! Even though they should be younger, I couldn’t imagine too many college age actors pulling off these performances. Paul Rudd and Rachel Weisz are just magnificent. The words they say aren’t necessarily as important as the body language. The film becomes about reading faces and hands and posture rather than reading lips.

And so, many “props” should be given to director Neil LaBute for directing them so well. However, I must take away said “props” to my homey Neil (*note: not actually my homey) for writing the script. The dialogue is trite and pretentious and dull. A slight bit of life comes about with every mention of “PDA,” but on the whole is DOA. I’ve never considered LaBute’s work to be overtly comedic, but when a film makes so many attempts and falls flat on its modified nose, points must be deducted for lack of grace. Also, if the film is making itself out to be such a mystery, try not to flaunt the ending so quickly. The surprise turn can be thought of about fifteen minutes in (assuming you haven’t seen the trailer, then you already know it). And when the ending arrives and the secret is revealed, we are expected to wade through the explanation of it. All the while supposedly saying, “Ooooohhhhh, ok,” when really we’re saying “credits, credits, credits, credits….”

The movie is all about keeping up appearances. Everyone is hiding something. The film pretends to be a lot of things it isn’t as well. It pretends to be making some type of statement on being your own person. It pretends that the depth of the characters somehow justifies the time spent with them. It pretends to be a work of art when really it’s just a bold neon sign epileptically flickering the point of the piece into your head. It pretends to be better than it is, just like the characters themselves.

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