Silver Linings Playbook

Last night I streamed Silver Linings Playbook, the critically acclaimed, Best Picture nominated, box-office blockbuster directed by David O. Russell. Russell also wrote the screenplay, which is based on a novel by Matthew Quick. Because of all the hoopla, and Russell's last effort, The Fighter (2010), as well as the advertising campaign for Silver Linings when it was in the theaters -- which promised a movie that would be a dramatic study of working class devotion to the National Football League -- I was expecting more.

To be fair, Bradley Cooper is dynamite. The movie succeeds in his portrayal of a bipolar guy who is sent off the deep end when he comes upon his wife screwing a coworker in the shower. The way Russell shoots and cuts the film puts you a manic, bipolar mindset. And what I took away from it -- we're still in the first 45 minutes of the movie -- is that this is the way we (the 99%) live now with our smart phones and Twitter accounts and ear buds constantly plugged into our heads. We are polluted with electricity. We are all bipolar now. We have no center. We flit from one tab, from one screen to the next. We are ruled by the prince of the power of the air.

But then about halfway through the film the Hollywood machinery of the romantic comedy-drama drops down like a 16-ton weight. Jennifer Lawrence, who is fascinating to watch, enters the scene. She basically reprises her The Hunger Games (2012) role -- tough, vulnerable outsider who saves the day. The dance contest climax is an absurd sugary confection, as is the Sunday in front of the widescreen, Middle America nirvana, "Look, Ma! We're all happy now!" epilogue; it does a disservice to the first half of the movie. This is a flawed picture.