Long Shot

Imagine Seth Rogen is a saw that was once sharp but has dulled with time and use. Also, sentient, so it knows it’s getting old. As that saw ages it sees there are better and newer saws available, and it’s going to become obsolete. So, that saw thinks (because he’s sentient), “I don’t want to die. I know what I’ll do, I’ll reinvent myself. I’ll become a hammer.”

Except, saws make shitty hammers. You can’t pound nails with a saw. Not even with the handle, because then you have to hold the blade and you’ll cut all your fingers off and have to hire someone to hold your beer and feed you. The saw is only good at sawing, and when it’s no longer good at that, it’s worthless. Except maybe as a musical instrument in a band you never, ever want to see.

Seth Rogen is an old saw. He was once young enough to cut the logs that of raunchy comedy, schlubby buddy comedy and stoner comedy. There are younger saws now that can cut those logs sharper. Saws that people would rather watch do it because, at a certain time it is just sad to see an old, dull saw working so hard to cut so little. Also, after a certain age you are no longer a lovable loser; you’re just a loser. To be lovable you’d have to be young enough to have a chance at redemption.

Seth Rogen, the saw, must decide what to do next. He’s sentient, so he knows he can’t cut logs like Superbad 2 or Pineapple Express 2, or Zack and Miri Make a Porno 2. Not yet. Not until he loses his last shred of dignity. First, he has to try to reinvent himself as a new and useful tool.

In Long Shot, Seth Rogen is a hammer, futilely flailing at nails as the male lead in a romantic comedy geared toward middle-aged women who listen to Dan Savage podcasts. This is a fake brainy movie served with a calculated dose of raunch, all in the name of trying to differentiate itself from the formulaic shit on the Hallmark Channel, which it is identical to in them and plot and outcome. It's a Hallmark movie with more "fucks" and a few better jokes.

Rogen gives off a weird funk, a scent of desperation, but also the smell of weed at a Martha's Vineyard garden party; familiar but misplaced. The movie, for all its standard trappings, wants a romantic lead who’s all doughy, begoggled and unkempt. Rogen gets some nails in, but he won’t be able to keep doing it. The novelty of the slob as romantic lead wears off pretty fucking quick. Hell, if slovenly passed for charm, I’d be Cary Grant. Or, even hotter. I have shit stains on my pants. Mr. Grant never had those.

Rogen plays Fred Flarksy, an angry liberal journalist we first meet as he tries to infiltrate a gang of neo-nazis. When the alternative weekly he works for gets bought by a Rupert Murdoch-style media tycoon (Andy Serkis), he quits rather than tone down his self-righteous indignation. He takes drugs, and lives in a hipster loft in Brooklyn.

In a cornball meet cute moment that involves Boyz II Men (I shit you not), he is reunited with his childhood babysitter Charlotte Field, who has become the relatively young, attractive and ambitious Secretary of State (Charlize Theron). She wants to become president, needs a speechwriter and thinks his schlubby and angry style is just what she needs.

It doesn’t make a lot of sense. Charlotte’s supposed to be really smart, she travels in cultured circles, but the movie doesn’t explore this much beyond having people tell us she is smart. She’s apparently very bad at hiring decisions and, despite her popularity and the popularity of her positions, unable to draw from a very deep well. This is a shitty romantic comedy, though, so you’re supposed to treat inconsistencies like a retarded dog and love them no matter how many times they pee on the carpet.

Flarsky and Field travel to the world’s political hotspots and she campaigns for an environmental policy that the movie is too big a pussy to give any definition (because it might offend some ticket-buyer to take a position). Her goal is to be the next president, and he is going to write funny jokes to get her there. Why the speechwriter actually attends events with her is, well, a retarded dog.

Love blooms, but it’s a forbidden love because Flarsky looks like cookie batter the cat sat on: doughy and hairy. Charlotte’s handlers worry that if the world knows she humps guys like that they won’t vote for her. So, Charlotte must make a big decision: to pursue her dream of changing the world as president or follow her heart and keep boning the schlub.

But wait, perhaps there is a third option: to both screw Flarsky and be president! Is it possible? In Long Shot it is. Charlotte makes the brave choice of having everything because this is female wish fulfillment horseshit. It's the romantic comedy equivalent of what porn makers think is erotica for women. That is, not different or thoughtful shit, just the same shit dumbed down.

Just like in every Hallmark movie, Long Shot spends two hours pretending it won’t end with the woman getting everything she superficially dreams of. It’s got the suspense and tension of cold spaghetti. That's because Long Shot plays it safe. Yeah, it’s got a few funny jokes, but they’re surrounded by so many fucking cliches: the cold ambitious woman whose heart melts, the supportive and wealthy best friend who acts as a deus ex machina who can make anything happen, the meet cute, the mild dilemma to overcome, the snarling and villainous boss, and on and on.

Hammer is not the tool Seth Rogen should be. This movie is a one off, a novelty for the ladies in the Hallmark crowd. They are experimenting here, trying to actually like the unattractive guy. But they will quickly tire of him in favor of guys with nice abs and manicured facial hair. And the men aren't coming along. Why watch softcore when they're still making hardcore, younger and edgier? This is a movie in search of an audience.

Long Shot can pretend it’s edgy and different, but it really isn't. It's just the same shit smothered in hot sauce. Saying fuck to look edgy is easy when you're real not. Trust me, I know.

I fucking know. Two Fingers.