About Schmidt (Widescreen)

Alexander Payne's portrait of Midwestern suburban life is almost unrelentingly bleak, following its main character around and focusing on all the tiny indignities that steadily pile up on him. The relentlessly self-analytical Warren has examined his life in search of some higher purpose, and he's come up lacking. Looking back he can see only missed opportunities and pointless toil, and looking ahead he only glimpses loneliness and impending death. He has only two things left that give his life any semblance of meaning: his attempts to prevent his beloved daughter from marrying a mulleted, fu-manchued waterbed salesman named Randall; and Ndugu, the Tanzanian orphan whom he starts supporting financially early in the movie. Warren's letters to Ndugu serve as a perfect framing device, providing a window to the internal conflicts that roil beneath his quiet exterior.

Since the monstrous shadow of "Election" looms over this movie for its entire two hours, comparisons are all but inevitable, and I might as well make mine now. Both movies are allegorical tales set in white-bread Nebraska locales, but "Election" is a screwball comedy anchored by a serious plot, while "About Schmidt" is a dark tale of quiet desparation and self-reflection with some offbeat humor mixed in. It's a good thing there are some laughs here too, or I might have wound up trying to hang myself with my belt after I first saw the movie. Most of the humor to be found come from Dermot Mulroney's clueless Randall and, of course, Kathy Bates as Randall's mildly deranged motormouth of a mother. Bates practically steals the show during her limited screen time, as her character's sincerity, her brutal honesty, and above all her tendency to reveal excessive details provides a much-needed counterpoint to Nicholson's reserve and bitterness.

While I'll be the first to admit that "About Schmidt" isn't an easy movie to watch, it's not supposed to be. What makes this such a rewarding movie is the challenge of watching such a thoroughly unremarkable man for two hours, following along with his path through despair, self-discovery, and ultimately a measure of redemption. Sure, Warren Schmidt's just a retired geezer from Nebraska, but his sufferings are more universal than they may appear at first. Warren's experiences make for such fascinating viewing precisely because there are so many people like him out there.

Jack Nicholson, in one of his all-time best performances, plays a recent retiree who goes through an end-of-life crisis. His wife dies and his daughter is marrying an idiot, played with comedic brilliance by Dermot Mulroney. He hops in his Winnebago and drives across the United States to have his say. Nicholson is a tired old man who doesn't want to give up on life quite yet, and in a last show of defiance and nonconformity, he tries to stop the wedding.

"Schmidt," to some, is an unrelenting Prozac festival. But if you have a taste for black comedy, and enjoy watching ordinary people fail miserably and make jackasses out of themselves, as well as appreciate good drama, "Schmidt" is your type of movie. It's true, most of the film is sad. But there are moments -- especially when Nicholson shows up at Kathy Bates's house and has to endure her completely dysfunctional brood -- of comedic genius.

If that's not enough to convince you, watch it for Nicholson's performance alone. Oftentimes in his long spanning career, Nicholson has resorted to playing mockeries of his public persona -- flashing those eyebrows and exploding that smile of his. But in "Schmidt" he appropriately plays the role of an old defeated man. You won't even know it's him. He seems to have aged an additional 67 years just to play this role, and it's inspiring. It's also a lesson that, no matter how old you are, there's no reason to give up on your hopes and dreams -- just make sure you're not trying to topple the Berlin Wall alone.

Sad and funny. Bitter and cynical. "About Schmidt" has it all, including some of the most unforgettable elderly characters ever portrayed on screen.