THE STORY – Two inseparable best friends, Sam and Ari, start to unravel as they compete for the affection of Liz, the middle-aged mom auditing their college poetry workshop.
THE CAST – Leslie Mann, Cooper Hoffman, Andrew Barth Feldman, Nico Parker, Martha Kelly, Maisy Stella, Will Price & Cliff “Method Man” Smith
THE TEAM – Maude Apatow (Director) & Raffi Donatich (Writer)
THE RUNNING TIME – 117 Minutes
Comedy runs in the Apatow family bloodline. For director Judd Apatow, his cinematic abilities started on television with the remarkable success of “Freaks and Geeks.” Influenced at a young age by his mother, who was a stand-up comic, the remarkable lineage of the Apatow name has largely changed the way we consume contemporary comedy. For better and for worse, Apatow is one of the pioneers in producing low-budget, star-studded improvisational comedies for mainstream audiences. The profitable framework of an average Apatow production is designed to make you laugh, regardless of his tepid formalism and un-enthusiastic direction. Largely consumed by a shot-reverse-shot methodology, Apatow’s signature-brand is dependent on the commitment of his performers.
It was inevitable that the daughter of Judd Apatow, Maude Apatow, would finally move into the director’s chair, after collaborating with her father on the pandemic streaming flop “The Bubble.” In “Poetic License”, Maude Apatow continues the family tradition of producing remarkably flat cinema. Don’t go into “Poetic License” expecting a renegade debut feature. Apatow plays her cringe-comedy safe by largely letting her cast of diverse comics improvise and riff through her situational comedy. While “Poetic License” falters in its abundance of dead air that only slows down the momentum of its dialogue-dependent punchlines, the film’s entertaining banter is anchored by a truly transformative performance from Cooper Hoffman.
Hoffman’s unhinged charisma and erratic demeanor provides insatiable interiority for his spontaneous character Ari. His posture and frantic eye movements brilliantly embody his character’s self-centered flaws and his energetic mannerisms magnify Ari’s plights for social recognition. In tandem with Hoffman’s magnetic presence, Andrew Barth Feldman plays Sam, Ari’s best friend. Feldman’s introverted turn is somewhat cliched in comparison with Hoffman’s unpredictable role. However, the contrast amplifies Apatow’s comedic timing during moments of pure adolescent cringe.
Interesting to note, both of the young actors have previously starred in films about young men pursuing older women, which may or may not have contributed to their perfect casting. As the two sheltered college students begin to thirst over a middle age auditor from their poetry class, Apatow finds genuine laughter amidst the pandemonium between two friends turned romantic competitors. Leslie Mann plays Liz in “Poetic License,” a married mother who finds solace in creative writing amidst a turbulent midlife crisis. The relationship she forms with the young scoundrels never teeters toward endorsement of their unconventional dynamic. Accompanying the trifecta of performances, Martha Kelly’s brief but welcome role as a disgruntled deadpan professor who trauma dumps on her poetry class manages to steal the limelight.
However, Apatow’s competent vision undercuts the momentum of its titular theme. While the situational comedy unveils the autonomy of Mann’s role through her character’s mother-daughter relationship, the film surprisingly doesn’t explore much of the creative writing component. Apatow could have excavated further into the theme of creative authority, utilizing the setup of a doomed poetry class to earn its pathos. At the end of “Poetic License,” not much new is offered to viewers who have already sat through countless other American comedies just like it.
Apatow’s directorial efforts never go above and beyond the film’s infatuated premise. “Poetic License” doesn’t aim to reconfigure our interpretation of the American low-budget comedy. Apatow largely sticks to her father’s formula, comfortably working with her performers within the improvisational confines of her acceptable script. “Poetic License” lacks the memorability of other iconic May-December comedies. Both “Licorice Pizza” and “No Hard Feelings” – which are carried by breakthrough performances from Cooper Hoffman and Andrew Barth Feldman, respectively – are far more surprising works that confront their thorny age gaps. Ultimately, what you see is exactly what you get with “Poetic License” – an average American comedy that unremarkably plays it safe.
