Were it not for some of the more mature subject matter, I’d strongly suspect that a rabble of feral children, abandoned on a desert island well before completing middle school and weaned only on episodes of Punk’d, wrote What Happens in Vegas. If you’re looking for a film that, at the very least pretends to pander to thinking adults, you’re looking in the wrong place.
When Joy (Cameron Diaz) and Jack (Ashton Kutcher) wake in a sumptuous Las Vegas penthouse after a debauched night on the town, they barley remember each other’s names, let alone how they got there. Just 24 hours earlier Joy was dumped by her fiancée and Jack was fired from his job by, of all people, his own father. Fleeing to Las Vegas, the two strangers hook up and ingest enough booze to obliterate any memory of the evening. Which means the tacky rings on their fingers the next morning are the only indications that they ended their revels in a wedding chapel.
Joy and Jack couldn’t be more different. She is an uptight Wall Street trader and he is a good-for-nothing slacker. Understandably, they can’t get an annulment fast enough. But on their way to set things straight, Jack uses one of Joy’s quarters to play the slots and wins a shocking three million dollar jackpot. Suddenly, Joy isn’t so anxious to be separated.
The two greedily vie for the loot, prompting a judge (Dennis Miller) to freeze the cash and order the couple to live together as husband and wife for a six-month trial period. As Joy and Jack play at domestic bliss for anyone who happens to be watching, but do everything they can to sabotage each other behind closed doors, they discover that maybe, just maybe, they were meant to be together after all. Trust me on this one — you’ll never see the end coming. (Sarcasm: sär.kazəm, noun, the use of irony to mock or convey contempt.)
What Happens in Vegas is a clever concept lamely executed. This could have been an enjoyable, smart story in the hands of far better filmmakers. One can imagine a classier version with the likes of Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn. Instead, what we get is a clumsy, frustratingly predictable film full of recycled sidekicks and clearly overcooked jokes.
I confess I have never liked Cameron Diaz. I’ve never found her funny, attractive or remotely compelling. However, somewhere inside Ashton Kutcher is a natural leading man waiting to get out. You can see it here during brief snatches when he stops clowning around just long enough to look every bit the chiseled, handsome star he’s becoming. Whether that is something he wants remains to be seen.
What Happens in Vegas is the latest in a long line of brain dead romantic comedies to slip, embryonic and unfinished, from the Hollywood machine. Who’d have thought that Iron Man, the maligned summer’s first action blockbuster, would come off looking like the smartest, most complete bet two weekends in a row.
© Copyright 2008 Brandon Fibbs. All rights reserved.