Arts & Culture

Goodrich
Where: In theatres
What: Movie, 111 mins.
When: Fri., Oct. 18
Genre: Drama
Rating: NN (out of 5)
Why you should watch: Only mega Michael Keaton fans can endure this sentimental sludge fest.

THIS IS AN excruciatingly sentimental, overacted sludge fest that sees Michael Keaton munch every line of dialogue while filling the film’s few silences with overly mannered actorly physical and vocal ticks. One can almost see Keaton looking out the corner of his eye at the end of each scene, waiting for the crew to break into applause when writer-director Hallie Meyers-Shyer (Home Again) shouts “Cut!”

Meyers-Shyer claims she wrote the script explicitly for Keaton to chew through, and she has clearly given the actor free reign to indulge his worst excesses. Keaton plays Andy Goodrich, an L.A. art gallery owner who lives in a stunningly magnificent house, though we are supposed to believe his elegant gallery is in financial trouble. His problems multiply right off the start when his wife abruptly disappears into rehab for an addiction he was unaware of, leaving him in charge of twin nine-year-olds who are Hollywood Precocious©, rendering them supposedly adorable though they rarely move beyond annoying.

Mila Kunis is totally wasted as Grace, the pregnant, adult daughter from a different mother who, with her duller-than-dad doctor husband, also lives in a magnificent homestead. Anyone hoping for an update on Keaton’s breakout heartfelt, comedy hit from the previous century, Mr. Mom, will be sorely disappointed in this laugh-free exercise in wannabee-gravitas.

Even this tired dad-does-“mom’s”-work premise offers obvious comic opportunities, none of which are utilized. Fights seem fake, dialogue is stilted and characters are corny — none more so than the requisite Queer Friend whose only purpose is to swish around and allow Goodrich to appear more open-minded than we’d expect (“Look, he’s okay with the gays!”). Keaton’s ongoing, bug-eyed wonder at playing a new role in his family is more annoying than authentic. Goodrich feels like a redemption tale created to absolve shitty middle-aged fathers, Meyers-Shyer’s own perhaps, of accountability for a life of being a too-busy-to-parent parent. Otherwise, as a film, it’s pointless and a waste of some talented actors.