A literate, literary film with a Hollywood high-concept hitch: a man starts hearing voices, then realizes it’s actually the narration of his own life, whereupon he learns about his impending death.
Often cute premises like these (think Click from this year) end up become trite extremely quickly. To this film’s credit, the conceit never wears out its welcome, and the script has enough self referentially to keep it fresh to the end, all while providing some very palatable romantic comedy tropes along the way.
The chemistry between Will Ferrell and Maggie Gylenhall seemed a bit creepy with the decade age difference, but no one seemed to be complaining. Dustin Hoffman’s professor is a dapper role for him, hardly a stretch, while Emma Thompson seems to be trying too hard whilst Queen Latifah (!) jiggles along pleasingly. Tony Hale just made me miss the Bluth family.
Still, in the end it’s a cut and dry romantic comedy with a bit of lit crit thrown in to make it seem smarter than it really is. Reminds me of university quite a bit, now that I think of it…