Review: 'Cyrus' breathes quirky life into the romantic comedy

Cyrus.jpgJohn C. Reilly (l.) and Jonah Hill in "Cyrus"

The Hollywood romantic comedy is in such woeful shape that you can’t imagine anyone coming along to rescue it.  Stories, jokes and morals that are little more than zombies are trotted out by filmmakers and performers with deathly grimaces on their mugs, and the (diminishing) audience insists louder than ever that to bring any sort of critical attention to bear is to ‘ruin’ the ‘fun.’

The only recent signs of fresh life in the genre have come from the male side -- the films of Judd Apatow and his posse -- and after a promising early start, the blend of earnestness and raunch that characterize those films has itself been watered down into cliché and triteness.

How pleasant to report, then, that a new romantic comedy -- small, smart, funny, tender and dear -- should emerge from a pair of filmmaking brothers still in their 30s and with a distinct indie film pedigree that informs, while not dominating, their work.

Jay and Mark Duplass have collaborated on two feature films (“The Puffy Chair,” “Baghead”) and a number of shorts that could be lumped in with the loosely identified film movement loosely known as ‘mumblecore’ -- low-budget, semi-improvised movies about young people’s existential and romantic crises.

Superficially, “Cyrus” feels more Apatowish than mumblecorey:  key roles are filled with such Apatow-ites as John C. Reilly, Jonah Hill and Catherine Keener; there is a touch (but just a touch) of the grossies; there’s a hapless protagonist seeking a romance and a rivalry between two men -- if ‘men’ is the word for either -- who ought to know better.  There’s a shagginess, too, that recalls the tone and texture of works in the Apatowverse.

But there’s a different sort of bounce to “Cyrus,” a comfort with smallness, and a regard for human frailties and emotions of the sorts which Apatow & Co. nowadays address as a matter of obligation or form.  In their first step up to larger-scale filmmaking, the Duplasses have left behind none of the sweetness, self-assurance or skill that mark their smaller works, and it’s a treat to see.

Reilly plays John, a divorcee who not only still works with his ex-wife (Keener) but relies on her for romantic advice.  She convinces him to come to a party where he accidentally makes a positive impression on Molly (Marisa Tomei). They hit it off wildly well, but some of her behavior is sufficiently strange that John follows her home one night to learn what’s up.

He discovers that she’s got a grown son, Cyrus (Hill), a creepy fella who plays creepy music and has a creepy connection to his mom.  Seeing John as an interloper into his personal world, Cyrus intends to undermine him.  But John feels so strongly for Molly that he determines to stand toe-to-toe with Cyrus and keep this new love blooming.

There are aspects of “Cyrus” that recall, oh, “Step Brothers” or “Knocked-Up” or “The 40-Year-Old Virgin” or other Apatow-ish entertainments.  But the Duplasses make more substantial characters of their women, they keep their men closer to the ground, and they strike a lovely balance between lo-fi and polished in their craft.

Too, they’ve got a fine cast working at a high level.  Reilly is impossible to root against, a decent guy with ordinary gifts given a glimpse of heaven and trying to hold on against unlikely odds.  Tomei continues to dazzle in her ongoing career revival (“The Wrestler,” “Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead”).  And Hill, not really an actor so much as a presence, pulls off some subtleties impressively.

Mainly, though, “Cyrus” is heartening:  as a genuinely charming romance, as an opportunity for a leading man who doesn’t get enough such breaks, and as a calling card for the Duplasses, who have hit the ball quite hard on their first at-bat in the majors.


92 min., R, Fox Tower


Grade: B-plus