Solitary Man

We probably need another movie about a fiftysomething white guy in freefall like we need a hole in the head, but at least the mid-life crisis victim in Solitary Man is played by Michael Douglas. No stranger to embodying charming cads and fading golden boys, Douglas mines this familiar territory with playful self-deprecation, and continues to unearth fresh insights into the damaged psyches of these silver-tongued, emotionally-stunted rogues.

Here, he plays Ben Kalmen, a wealthy car-dealership magnate whose life began to unravel when his doctor noticed some disquieting signs on a routine EKG. Six and a half years later, Ben has never returned for the follow-up tests, instead adopting a self-destructive, no-day-but-today lifestyle. He left his wife Nancy (Susan Sarandon) after engaging in a series of affairs, and continues to cheat on girlfriend Jordan (Mary Louise Parker) with women half his age. As for his money, he lost most of it trying to stay out of his prison after he was caught using his dealerships to scam car manufacturers. As the film opens, he appears to be getting his life back on course; using Jordan’s familial connections, he seems very close to approval on a new dealership. Trouble begins to brew, however, when Ben agrees to take Jordan’s teenage daughter Allyson (Imogen Poots) to her college interview at his alma mater. Without giving too much away, it’s fair to say that Ben’s chronic selfishness and pleasure-seeking send him on an ever-deepening downward spiral, slowly alienating him from the few people whose affection he can still count on.

Especially when Douglas is strolling around the college campus, it’s hard not to draw comparisons between Ben and Professor Grady Tripp, the pot-addled floundering novelist Douglas played in Curtis Hanson’s great, undervalued Wonder Boys. Both possess the ability to use their worldly intelligence and wit as defense mechanisms against self-doubt and fear, freely using those who bother to care for them before retreating into self-isolation. But if Grady was a weary malcontent, his complicated love affair with the written word left still-glowing embers of passion and empathy within him. Scratch too far below Ben’s silver-fox exterior, however, and you’ll quickly discover a heart grown stony with bitterness and suspicion. Douglas is as charming as ever in Solitary Man, and proves again and again that he remains in possession of some of the best comic timing in American film. But he also knows how to slowly pull away at Ben’s slickster façade, revealing the desolation beneath. This proves especially true in the film’s later scenes, when his once-effective seduction techniques are revealed as empty and cynical.

I realize this makes Solitary Man sound lacerating in its examination of one man’s debilitating flaws. In truth, directors Brian Koppelman (who also wrote the script) and David Levien adopt a more agnostic approach to Ben: engaged and occasionally seduced by his charms, but savvy enough to know when to pull back and let Douglas reveal his uglier side. Such a hands-off, do-your-thing approach doesn’t result in a film with a particularly strong sense of tone and vision. Solitary Man could benefit from a more forceful directorial hand, one that goes beyond the occasional impressionistic shot of a spinning Frisbee or shadowy bridge. (Wonder Boys again provides a fruitful comparison: an actor-driven ensemble film that nevertheless showcased Hanson’s fair-minded empathy and ability to craft specific niche milieus.) That being said, handing a film over to a cast as talented as this one—Jenna Fischer plays Ben’s long-suffering daughter; Jesse Eisenberg pops up as a dweeby college sophomore taken under Ben’s womanizing tutelage—almost inevitably produces some funny, engaging results. Douglas and Poots, in particular, have a surprisingly vibrant rapport, two smart people sizing one another up and liking what they see. And when was the last time you saw a film in which Danny DeVito (as Ben’s old college buddy) could be described as its center of emotional warmth?

There’s a familiarity to Solitary Man’s shambling narrative and schematic character psychology that keeps it from lingering too long in the mind, up to and including its predictably “ambiguous” final shots. That we nevertheless remain invested in the ultimate direction Ben will choose to take his life is a testament to Douglas’ peerless ability to remind us that even the most self-involved bastard has a humanity that’s thorny and complicated and thrilling to watch.

                                            Matt Connolly