Brooklyn Nerd Comedy Stumbles
A small picture called The Baxter from writer and director Michael Showalter—who plays the title character, a nerd type some may know better as a Poindexter—begins with a good plot premise, then stumbles and falls flat.
The Baxter, as he describes himself in a clumsy narrative, is accountant Elliot, one of those competent New Yorkers who shows up for work on time and hasn't overcome his adolescent awkwardness. Showalter presents his leading man as is, doubting himself, living in a Brooklyn walkup and reading the dictionary for pleasure.
In walks an attractive blueblood portrayed by Elizabeth Banks, a client who makes an inexplicably open play for Elliot right there in his modest office. It's enough to make Elliot go weak in the knees, which he does, much to the chagrin of a geeky temp (Michelle Williams) who nearly locked lips with Elliot before the saucy Banks sashayed in. Most of the movie involves watching Elliot, who becomes engaged to Banks, bounce back and forth like a tennis ball.
The love triangle gets complicated with a fourth person—Banks' hunky ex-boyfriend (Justin Theroux)—who shows up to woo the Banks babe and what is intended to be madcap is mediocre in Showalter's hands. Flashback framing reveals too much too soon, giving the picture a droning inevitability. Showalter tells the story in bits, part farce, part testimonial, part routine and the comedy is sketchy. The Baxter trips in a bar scene with Paul Rudd as yet another character, yukking it up at in-jokes with more side characters, and this is where Showalter loses focus.
Elliot, neither sufficiently goofy nor appealing, is grating—as shallow as the social climber in one scene, yet all thumbs in love with the geek girl a few minutes later. At his worst, he is downright shabby, stringing the Banks character along while cozying up to the secretary. When he faces making a choice, he is like someone who, when invited out for a beer, stalls for a better deal.
That makes Elliot an everyman, perpetually looking over a shoulder while he's talking to someone, and he loses his noble nerd status relatively quickly. Nerds are supposed to understand rejection and loneliness; this guy would sell his mother for a party in the Hamptons. He wants to be like everyone else so desperately that it isn't convincing in those few instances when he does not.
Peter Dinklage (The Station Agent) nets a few chuckles as a swishy midget, but the best scenes belong to Michelle Williams as the temp. She fumbles and stammers, coming out of the rain or stepping into an amateur night spotlight, and she's smart enough to pack her bags and head back to Ohio, which allows her to deadpan the movie's funniest line. As the odd duck with Big City goals, it is her—not the Baxter—we're rooting for by the end of a movie that neglects to provide the real McCoy.
The Baxter, as he describes himself in a clumsy narrative, is accountant Elliot, one of those competent New Yorkers who shows up for work on time and hasn't overcome his adolescent awkwardness. Showalter presents his leading man as is, doubting himself, living in a Brooklyn walkup and reading the dictionary for pleasure.
In walks an attractive blueblood portrayed by Elizabeth Banks, a client who makes an inexplicably open play for Elliot right there in his modest office. It's enough to make Elliot go weak in the knees, which he does, much to the chagrin of a geeky temp (Michelle Williams) who nearly locked lips with Elliot before the saucy Banks sashayed in. Most of the movie involves watching Elliot, who becomes engaged to Banks, bounce back and forth like a tennis ball.
The love triangle gets complicated with a fourth person—Banks' hunky ex-boyfriend (Justin Theroux)—who shows up to woo the Banks babe and what is intended to be madcap is mediocre in Showalter's hands. Flashback framing reveals too much too soon, giving the picture a droning inevitability. Showalter tells the story in bits, part farce, part testimonial, part routine and the comedy is sketchy. The Baxter trips in a bar scene with Paul Rudd as yet another character, yukking it up at in-jokes with more side characters, and this is where Showalter loses focus.
Elliot, neither sufficiently goofy nor appealing, is grating—as shallow as the social climber in one scene, yet all thumbs in love with the geek girl a few minutes later. At his worst, he is downright shabby, stringing the Banks character along while cozying up to the secretary. When he faces making a choice, he is like someone who, when invited out for a beer, stalls for a better deal.
That makes Elliot an everyman, perpetually looking over a shoulder while he's talking to someone, and he loses his noble nerd status relatively quickly. Nerds are supposed to understand rejection and loneliness; this guy would sell his mother for a party in the Hamptons. He wants to be like everyone else so desperately that it isn't convincing in those few instances when he does not.
Peter Dinklage (The Station Agent) nets a few chuckles as a swishy midget, but the best scenes belong to Michelle Williams as the temp. She fumbles and stammers, coming out of the rain or stepping into an amateur night spotlight, and she's smart enough to pack her bags and head back to Ohio, which allows her to deadpan the movie's funniest line. As the odd duck with Big City goals, it is her—not the Baxter—we're rooting for by the end of a movie that neglects to provide the real McCoy.
