Review: Cyrus

We now have ample proof that Jonah Hill is not funny (exhibits A, B and C: Superbad, Forgetting Sarah Marshall, Get Him to the Greek). But the young actor does creepy exceptionally well.

We have ample proof that Jonah Hill is not funny. But he does creepy exceptionally well.

In his new film, Cyrus, Hill plays a devious, mother-fixated slacker who would give Oedipus the shivers. Cyrus (Hill) is 22 and still lives with his mom, the attractive Molly (Marisa Tomei). I know, in the Failure to Launch era, that's nothing out of the ordinary. But, like a small child, Cyrus is also excessively jealous and possessive of her. The two share an unwholesome relationship in which she pampers his sensitive, creative side hes a synth-rock composer while he scares away her potential lovers.

Then along comes a stubborn rival for Mollys affections. John (John C. Reilly) is a divorced film editor who has been carrying a torch for his ex-wife, Jamie (Catherine Keener), for the last seven years. That changes, however, after he meets Molly at a party and the two instantly click. Facing the possibility of finally finding new love, John isnt about to let some emotionally underdeveloped man-child ruin his chances. When he discovers the outwardly welcoming Cyrus is secretly trying to undermine him, a battle of wits ensues.

Reilly, who did a great man-child spoof in Step Brothers, gets to be semi-mature this time out. Although the movie begins with some Apatow-ish comic tropes John is caught twice with his pants down and enlivens the party with a drunken singalong to the Human Leagues Dont You Want Me he soon shows his sophisticated side. Hes willing to be honest and upfront with Cyrus about his feelings for Molly, even if the kid weirds him out.

John cant get a handle on this mama's boy and neither can we. Writer-directors Mark and Jay Duplass flirt with icky innuendo, but also suggest that Cyrus is suffering from arrested development. Like a little boy encased in the body of a hulking young adult, he eats his peanut butter sandwiches without crusts and needs to be comforted when he has night terrors. His childish behaviour includes stealing and hiding Johns shoes.

The film doesnt seem interested in exploring why Cyrus has turned out this way. Andwe learn even less about Molly. Cyruss father is alluded to briefly as "out of the picture," but surely there have been other men in Mollys life before John. Theres no indication, however, that shes aware of her sons jealous side. How did she allow Cyrus to become so needy and what does it say about her own needs? Tomei struggles with her underwritten role and seems just as uncertain and uncomfortable in her scenes with Hill as we are.

Cyruss emotional retardation sounds sad, but the Duplasses play it for laughs. Were meant to be amused by Hills character and see the movie as just a quirky redrafting of the classic love triangle. The screenplay makes occasional attempts to be thoughtful, but the situation itself hasnt been very carefully thought out.

This is the first studio picture for the Duplass brothers, who helped define the no-budget, improv-driven "mumblecore" esthetic in films like The Puffy Chair and Baghead. Cyrus feels less like mumblecore with money and stars, however, than like a generic American independent comedy from a decade ago. Jas Sheltons self-consciously edgy camerawork, with its unnecessarily agitated movements and abrupt zoom-ins, could be a parody of indie filmmaking.

Then theres Keener, queen of the indies, who graces the film with her presence the way Judi Dench brings a touch of class to a British production. As Johns unusually solicitous ex-wife, she gives us one of her less astringent performances. Then again, how could she not feel compassion for Reillys lovable, woolly-headed shlub, a guy who self-deprecatingly describes himself as Shrek?

The films keystone performance, though, is Hills. And if, like the fat boy in The Pickwick Papers, he excels at making our flesh creep, hes not as skilled at showing his character's scared inner child. Perhaps a more boyish, vulnerable actor could make us feel pity for Cyrus Hills Superbad co-star, Michael Cera, springs to mind. As it is, the plump, prissy-lipped Hill kept reminding me of the Roman Emperor Nero, who also had a twisted relationship with his mother (not to mention musical pretensions).

When John first hears one of Cyrus's synthesizer compositions, he makes the innocent remark that it sounds like Steve Miller. "No it doesnt," Cyrus replies curtly. Actually, it does. The Duplass siblings also seem to be deceiving themselves. They think theyve made a clever, funny movie, when theyve really created something unsavoury and disturbing.

Cyrus opens in Toronto on June 25.

Martin Morrow writes about the arts for CBC News.