Fearless Writer ... Reviews

Stars: Steve Carell, Catherine Keener, Paul Rudd, Romany Malco
Director: Judd Apatow

Save for those who blundered into a sexual encounter at age 13 (and usually regretted it) there probably isn’t a boy walking this earth who did not obsess over losing his virginity. No number of magazine articles to the contrary can alter the importance and significance of this rite of passage – after all, it’s a desire fuelled purely by hormones and instinct. Intellect has nothing to do with it.

Andy Stitzer (Carell) is a 40-year-old man who whiles away his evenings painting miniatures, playing video games and watching Survivor with the elderly couple upstairs. Through bad luck and ineptness, his virginity is still sealed in the original plastic, just like the innumerable collectables that line his walls.

When Andy is invited to a poker night with some work buddies, his secret is exposed and they make it their mission to see that his cherry is popped, STAT. Cue scene after scene of well-conceived sexual hi-jinks as Andy tries everything from hitting on drunk chicks to attending a speed-dating service, all with disastrous results. Along the way he meets the woman who runs the store across the road, Trish (Catherine Keener), a mother of three – and grandmother of one – who can see the decent guy suffocating under the stigma. Thing is, she doesn’t know is that he’s a virgin and can’t understand why he is so reluctant to move their relationship into the realm of the physical.

Forget the one-dimensional Will Ferrell – if anyone is going to legitimately assume the Master of Comedy mantle that Jim Carrey left vacant after turning his hand to drama, Steve Carell is the man. His timing and inflection are impeccable and this performance is a worthy successor to his comic brilliance as the boneheaded Brick in Anchorman and the irritating Michael Scott in the inevitably shortlived American version of The Office (fuck Bewitched, let it fade into obscurity where it belongs). It doesn’t hurt that Carell is surrounded by such a muscular comedy ensemble, with Paul Rudd, Romany Malco and Seth Rogen just a few of the talented actors contributing to a continuous stream of belly laughs.

Such compliments bestowed … what is it with the sudden bloating of comedy run-times? Once, it was rare to see a film from this genre making it past the 90-minute mark, with occasional aberrations like Dirty Rotten Scoundrels only serving to highlight how rare drama-length comedies were. Recently we have had Wedding Crashers, which somehow managed to stretch two jokes out over two tedious hours, and now The 40 Year Old Virgin also makes a play for 120+ minute territory.

Granted, there is no ideal running time for comedies, and nor should there be. But both these films scream self-indulgence. The 40 Year Old Virgin runs out of jokes around the 90-minute mark and then outstays its welcome as its grasps fruitlessly for some sort of message or cultural relevance the way a teenage boy fumbles at a bra strap. It’s no coincidence that both it and Wedding Crashers have flaccid endings (pun intended) since they intentionally diverge from their humorous storylines and have to try and get back on track for a comic finale. (Virgin’s subsequent song and dance routine is both weird and embarrassing.) Other comedies have managed to incorporate dramatic or poignant moments without fumbling the ball – Planes, Trains and Automobiles comes instantly to mind.

The 40 Year Old Virgin is quality comedy from witty writers and a talented comedic cast. But it should be put and kept in its place, lest it gives rise to a whole generation of overlong comedies from vain filmmakers who cannot grasp the notion that sometimes less is more.

VERDICT: 4/5 stars