Review: Forgetting Sarah Marshall

Watching the streak of Judd Apatow-linked “adult” comedies these last few years has been a lot like watching a famous jazz ensemble play a set.  Apatow is clearly the frontrunner, setting the bar with big box office bangs and a seemingly unflappable track record.  For continuity’s sake, let’s say he’s the “Miles Davis” of the quartet; he’s the reason the audience is there and no one’s going to question his mastery when he steps up to the mike (or in this case, the page).  But, inevitably, it’s more interesting to watch his backups as they observe Apatow’s style and begin their own exploration into artistic identity.  This trend began last summer, with Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg’s off-color and ferociously hilarious “Superbad.”  No Mile’s solo, of course, but classic nonetheless.

This year, the set keeps steaming: we’ve got another Seth & Evan classic in the pipeline as well as an Apatow original.  But before the big names hit the stage, the joint needs to warm up a bit.  That’s where “Forgetting Sarah Marshall” comes in.  Though it probably won’t become the box office darling or cult favorite its predecessors have, the film and, inevitably, its writer/star Jason Segel deserve some credit for taking taking Apatow’s influences and going in its own direction.

The film centers on Peter, a sad sap composer who spends his days eating entire boxes of cereal, catching up on the news (read: watching Access Hollywood), and spending some quality time with his favorite pair of sweatpants.  If they made sweatpants with writing on the ass for men, Peter’s would undoubtedly read “AVERAGE JOE.”

He does sporadically put his nose to the grind, though, as the composer for the hit TV drama “Crime Scene,” whose star, Sarah Marshall (Kristen Bell), is Peter’s longtime girlfriend.  Though not exactly the kind of work Peter might call fulfilling, composing his “ominous tones” comes easily to him and we can see a major source of his inspiration comes from being close to Sarah, either in real life, as he holds her purse on the red carpet like a boyfriend-cum-personal assistant, or in the studio, as he, like a fanboy with a crush, watches his muse recite melodramatic, ratings-smashing drivel like a pro.  Though on very different planes of existence, the couple seems to be made for each other.

This changes, however, when Sarah decides she can’t coddle Peter anymore.  Obviously the life of a primetime princess has hampered our titular character, and she needs the support of a more firmly established man.  Her white knight comes in the form of one Aldous Snow (Russell Brand), whose nun licking, dry humping, and innuendo-driven pop lyrics are enough to make a gothic groupie melt with delight.  Aldous seems a far cry from Peter’s boyfrienditude, which is, perhaps, why Peter’s heart shatters so completely.  Sarah didn’t just want to leave Peter, but seemingly everything he represented.

Unable to handle the omnipresent reminders of his now-ex (and the overplayed, sex-dripping Aldous videos on the tube) and his string of one-night-stand floozies, Peter flees to Hawaii for a retreat from reality.  Upon arrival, it would seem paradise might actually cure Peter’s self-loathing.

But paradise is soon lost, as Peter discovers he is sharing the resort with Sarah and her British beau.  Eager to pull Peter out of his downward spiral, Rachel, the hotel’s concierge played by a ravishing Mila Kunis, offers her ear, her shoulder, and the hotel’s luxury suite (pro bono, no less).  It would seem, at least for Peter, pity pays.

What follows is Peter’s attempt at regaining control of his life.  He chats with some quirky locals (including the regular Apatow troupe), befriends a number of tourists (featuring a hilarious spot from “30 Rock’s” Jack McBrayer), and courts the ever-so-cool Rachel.  Of course, just as things start to look up for our poor Peter, Sarah’s insidious jealousy and competitiveness gets the best of her, and she dumps “crazy ex-girlfriend” all over Peter’s week.

On paper, “Forgetting Sarah Marshall” is cliche; it’s about learning to take control of one’s life just as things hit the breaking point.  We’ve seen it done a thousand times before, and from a dramatic standpoint, there aren’t many curveballs.

But the film’s uniqueness comes through in its humor.  With a quirky cast and an dark, hyper-sexualized focus, the film seeks to expose and exploit all the awkwardness and ugliness and hilarity to be found in intimate relationships.  All this is encapsulated in the film’s “revealing” first 10 minutes (yes, Segel’s junk unabashedly fills the screen), and Segel’s script does a good job of carrying that message home.  Without its diligent focus, the film would have been less an honest analytical take on modern-day intimacy and more a run-of-the-mill 90-minute gag reel.  To say the film is charmingly exploitive is an understatement.

I’ve said it before, but the film will almost certainly remain the forgotten little brother to Apatow’s larger productions.  With a virtually unknown leading man (despite his fantastic role on the greatly under-appreciated sitcom “How I Met Your Mother“), a seemingly run-of-the-mill plot, and a nearly celebrity-less supporting cast, most audiences will pass the film over for more hype-friendly draws.  But those who do find themselves staring down Jason Segel’s penis will find a big-hearted and endlessly charming film more concerned with cultural observation than box office performance.  And at the end of the day, isn’t that what we’re really seeking (the observation, not the penis)?