As if people don’t have enough to annoy them these days, this nasty film about self-obsessed rich movie stars in therapy could them over the edge. If people enjoy watching poor rich babies in adult bodies crying the blues when they aren’t indulging in addictions and meltdown, it’s perfect.
A bedraggled Kevin Spacey plays a psychiatrist who can’t get by the harsh realties of his own life to help his clients. He is a recent widower and depression and drugs are getting the best of him. The doctor has lost his compassion and there is no help for him. The only man he looks up to is his drug dealer, a nice enough guy who is in business of selling drugs, not healing souls.
It is perpetually overcast and threatening to rain in this ugly view of Hollywood. Each sap who marches into the doctor’s office, willingly or not so willingly, has the chance to turn their lives into something, but they don’t.
The patients, mostly A list stars, are living the dream, overindulged in money, adulation and position. Nevertheless, nothing is ever enough. They get more satisfaction from dramatic, teary gnashing of teeth than they could from just living.
The only truly compelling character, the only one we don’t despise, is a schoolgirl played by Keke Palmer. She is Spacey’s special project handed to him by his father also a psychiatrist, to help him reignite his compassion. The girl has had a rough go but she shimmers with intelligence and fire. I would also like to give Saffron Burrows character a pass; she has character. Shrink’s helpless next to them.
Robin Williams plays a self and sex-obsessed alcoholic who prides himself on the mess he has made of his life. He won’t be fixing it anytime soon because he enjoys it so much. He’s truly passionate and engaged in how bad his life is. Mark Webber plays a slimy aspiring screenwriter who steals Palmer’s patient files and writes an award- winning screenplay based on them. Dallas Roberts plays one of the vilest characters on screen in some time, an agent with the soul of a rhinoceros.
Jack Huston of the Hollywood/Ireland acting clan plays an English rock star throwing away his life and his shot at a career to get wasted and play in drum circles. His dashing good looks bring him admirers and enablers.
Shrink isn’t entertainment, enlightenment or fun. It is an exercise in disdain. It’s about sneering at vapid self-love in those old enough to know something but who don’t. While there are moments that are less than annoying, most are of the maddening variety.
Written By Thomas Moffett
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