Fridae

One imagines a friendly game of one upmanship in the Reitman household in the backyard basketball court after son Jason’s Oscar nomination for Up In The Air. His father Ivan Reitman was the most successful member of the Canadian comedy diaspora of the 80s that introduced American comedy to some of its brightest lights such as Jim Carrey, Dan Aykroyd, Eugene Levy and the late John Candy, and who scored a modern comedy classic with Ghostbusters. Ivan has recently fallen on dire straits just as his son has struck gold with remarkable consistency. After all, Ivan did enter the 21st century making mediocrities like Evolution and My Super Ex Girlfriend.

Jason: “The score for the Oscar noms is now One Jason, Nil Pops. Say old man, think you can still direct a modern romantic comedy for adult audiences after doing that kid stuff?”

(Jason dribbles the ball, gets intercepted by Ivan, who proceeds to score a three point jump shot.)

Jason: “Dammit, dad! You’re good. ”

Ivan: “Wouldn’t have done it without you getting me all riled up, son. Now, I’ll go direct that modern romantic comedy for adult audiences that you kids think you’re so good at.”

Jason: “Good luck dad! You can stay on as producer and get me to direct if you’re stuck!”

And of course, this movie is the outcome of that little jest between father and son. While the poster for the film is so generic and bland it is almost interchangeable with that other romantic comedy with two cute brunettes in the lead (Love and Other Drugs of course), No Strings Attached proves a likeable but forgettable outing from a skilled director nonetheless.

In a remarkable output of five films in two years (Your Highness, Thor, Black Swan and The Other Woman as the other four), Natalie Portman is clearly aiming for the big league and looking to be remembered. The earnest and hardworking actress does give her all into the role of our heroine, Emma Kurtzman, an earnest, hardworking and dedicated medical intern who finds herself unable to commit to, and unable to find it within herself the courage to commit to, a long term relationship with anyone.

The consistent reappearance throughout her life of the cute guy she once met at summer camp, who is now a low-ranking producer on a Glee/High School Musical ripoff, Adam Franklin (played by Ashton Kutcher with his usual mix of dopeyness and awkward charisma) offers an easy solution. They’d just be friends, but friends that use each other for sexual intercourse and not much else. Never go over the edge, never end up falling in love. After all, Adam’s girlfriend has just left him for his father, a randy, eccentric aging television star (Kevin Kline), which is motivation enough to get kinda even.

So yes, they do end up having hot sex, and lots of it, whenever they call each other or send each other text messages. And this being a romantic comedy, their friends all act as a sort of Greek chorus commenting on their actions even if it’s supposed to be secret. Now, the only question that remains is: will they be able to prevent the greatest mishap of all: falling in love itself?

The above should clue us in that we are from the usual Ivan Reitman territory, most of which with its space aliens, superheroes, kid-friendly laughs and other such hijinks, stays in family friendly territory. Here is Ivan challenging his son’s edgier, more adult resume, and finally saying that he too can make a comedy dealing with adult relationships in the 21st century and dealing with the possibility that modern life could validate new patterns of relationships that were incompatible with the mores of previous societies. Can regular sex be a substitute for actual love?

The film thinks so for a good part of it...as Adam and Emma continue their happy antics in operating rooms, toilets and each others’ apartments, before it bends to the general conservative will of much contemporary American comedy, in which institutions such as marriage, should not be mocked, trivialized or even invalidated. Indeed, Adam and Emma soon realize that deep down, they were always meant for each other, and cue the third act hijinks by the supporting cast et al to reunite the lovers. Not to mention that several of the supporting cast members do become items as well, resulting in a more or less conventional series of more or less happy endings.

You see, never mind the high divorce rates and the frequently ugly lawsuits and custody battles that mark so many marriages, marriage must still be sacred and not profaned. Herein lies perhaps the finest expression of American comedy’s new conservative bent, in which characters can get in transgressive behaviour and outrageous antics but realize that it’s for the lack of a better word, wrong, and that social norms are still the best to follow at the end of the day as they come to their senses.

Such a conventional ending and development is something of a shame since Ivan Reitman, still a good director and once a pioneer in crafting a new style of American comedy, now indeed finds himself much a follower in the shadow of his son and others like him. He’s probably too proud a father to get jealous, but one can imagine this conversation in the Reitman household at the end of the day:

Jason: “...And so you see, dad, that’s how it works. That’s how it’s supposed to end. It should never be so neat.”

Ivan: “Dammit son, I am getting old. I am getting old. All right, mom’s calling.”

(Ivan tries to get another shot, but the ball bounces off the hoop rim and misses. The two head back for dinner.)