Dave Buznik (Adam Sandler) is a nice, quiet, non-confrontational man who designs cat clothes for a living. He loves his girlfriend Linda (Marisa Tomei), but he won’t ask her to marry him because he hasn’t made anything of himself. He hasn’t made anything of himself because he’s too timid to stand up to his overbearing boss who steals his work and claims full credit. Underneath his calm exterior, Dave bristles with anger he never expresses, which is why he’s astonished when he’s accused of assaulting a flight attendant and sentenced to anger management therapy despite his never having lost his temper. Even worse, his therapist, Dr. Buddy Rydell (Jack Nicholson), is unconventional, crass and crazy. He’s also the one person who can make Dave really mad.
According to Dr. Buddy, there are two types of angry people – explosive and implosive. Explosive individuals like basketball coach Bobby Knight, who makes one of many celebrity cameos, vent their unrestrained rage with red-faced verbal assaults and violent outbursts. An implosive person tends to quietly stew. Their anger simmers beneath the surface instead of bubbling up to burn the nearest recipient. Per that definition, I am an implosive woman. Therefore it was with great irritation that I sat through Anger Management on a slow burn. The utter implausibility of the story, the complete lifelessness of Adam Sandler, the wobbly humour and especially, the overwhelming urge to hand Nicholson a comb… all of it prickled beneath my skin and I found myself tapping my foot just like the tightly restrained Dave Buznik does.
Yeah, there are a few funny moments. I defy anyone not to laugh when they meet Galaxia, a terrifying transvestite played by Woody Harrelson. Seeing Chicago’s John C. Reilly as a not-so meek monk who mixes it up with Dave is sure to crack you up. And a therapy session set on New York’s Queensborough Bridge is pretty amusing, although can someone please explain to me the sudden and inexplicable need for mad men to sing “I Feel Pretty?” (DeNiro belts it out better in Analyze That.) But it’s Nicholson’s craggy Play-Doh puss that nearly makes this movie worth watching.
Nearly.
First and foremost, Sandler should not play the straight man. It’s obvious that he’s struggling to find a happy medium between manic (The Waterboy) and morose (Punch-Drunk Love), but this isn’t it. There’s no Sandler sparkle here. We get a glimpse of him toward the end, but then it’s too late.
Too late could also express my reaction to the “twist” ending that suddenly has the movie making perfect happily-ever-after sense. Admittedly, some of my frustration was alleviated with this magical solution, but by then I’m mourning what could’ve been. The laughs could’ve been stronger and more frequent. Sandler could’ve – should’ve – stood toe-to-toe with Jack instead of shrinking within his shadow. And I could’ve skipped watching this movie. Oops, forgive me. Dr. Buddy would remind me that, “Sarcasm is anger’s ugly cousin.” In the end, Anger Management is little more than an exercise in frustration, and no amount of chanting the supposedly therapeutic “goosfraba” is going to help.
