Johnstrikes out again and again. He probably hasn’t dated since Reagan left Washington and hasforgotten what to do. But while relieving himself in the bushes, John discovershis soul mate, Molly (Marisa Tomei), a woman who shares his love for HumanLeague synth pop and probably hasn’t dated since the first President Bush.
They area fun couple on the hardscrabble edge of the free-lancing middle class. But noproblem, no story. Instead of being half of a couple, Molly can only beone-third of a triangle with her 21-year-old son, Cyrus (Jonah Hill). And no,it’s nothing as luridly tacky as incest. Cyrus has grown too big for his boyishemotional arrestment. Smothered in maternal attention and lacking a paternalrole model, he was never given the encouragement, the kick in the rear, to growup.
At firstCyrus seems cool with mom having a boyfriend, but his passive-aggression ismasterfully keyed to Molly’s emotions and his medicated-looking expression ofcalm acceptance conceals an angry smirk. The comedy by writer-directors Jay andMark Duplassoften filmed up close and personal as if through the world’s bestcell phone cameraisn’t consistently hilarious, but rather it builds from manymoments of situational (and not far-fetched) humor. Could Molly have beenattracted to John because he suggests an older, less dysfunctional Cyrus?
Thecomical scenario has teeth in a postmodern society where growing up andindependence are often postponed. While some kids flee back home because of thebad economy, others never seem eager to leave the nest at all. Perhaps it’s theunsettling feeling that those cozy, secure memories of childhood can never bereplicated? Maybe it’s the realization that adulthood isn’t so hot in a worldof outsourcing, downsizing and social and ethical uncertainty. Or could it bethat some parents just enable their children to remain kids forever?
Cyrus is screening at the OrientalTheatre.
