Me, Myself & Irene

Although Peter and Bobby Farrelly have certainly proven that they can string together a bunch of hilarious moments and leave any viewer clutching a busted gut in satisfaction, they have not yet proven that they can write and direct an actual film. In their previous film, the triumphantly tasteless "There's Something About Mary," directorial ability was rendered unnecessary by the sheer outlandishness of the humor involved and the sure-footed actors selected by the Farrelly Bros. But "Me, Myself & Irene" strives not only for Rabelaisian comedy, but also for reasonable psychological motivations, believable human relationships, actual pathos, and even a weird fabular quality, as it tells the tale of one man (Jim Carrey) with an split-personality disorder and the humorous complications that result as he attempts to romance Renee Zellweger.

In other words, the Farrelly Bros. want not only to have their cake and eat it too, but to have about fifty more cakes, and to eat all of them as well. What results is a film which does not build up the irresistible force of comic momentum that distinguishes all of our best farces, but which instead contains a bunch of sidesplitting moments which seem oddly unrelated to each other and which pass out of memory just as they pass off the screen. The film and the audience would have been better served had the Farrelly Bros. limited their appetites.

Certainly, the Bros. have not lost their ability to cook up delicious morsels for the audience. It's very hard to criticize a movie that features characters like Carrey's three enormous black trash-talking genius sons, or scenes like the one in which Carrey struggles manfully and unsuccessfully to urinate accurately while he has a bad case of morning wood (if you don't know what I'm talking about, you don't want to). Nowhere in this film do five minutes pass without some character delivering a profane and hilarious rejoinder, everyone acts badly at some point or another, and complications introduce themselves just often enough to keep everyone hopping. For three- or four-minute stretches, "Me, Myself & Irene" can keep pace with "There's Something About Mary."

Over the course of the film, though, it becomes clear that something is very, very wrong. The black sons don't really have a logical place in the film, even though they provide much of the comic material, and it shows. Renee Zellweger looks good, and charms when the Bros. let her, but as written her role could be played by a mannequin and a tape recorder with a few key phrases in it (like "I don't know why I'm doing this"). The movie itself takes an irritatingly long time to get to the meat of the humor, dallying in unconvincing sentimentality and Rex Allen, Jr.'s exasperatingly avuncular and inappropriate narration.

And then there is the Jim Carrey problem. Ever since Carrey stopped making movies in which he speaks out of his ass, directors have seemed somewhat confused as to what to do with him. Carrey has considerable thespianic skills, but they are so dependent on his astonishingly well-controlled and resourceful physicality that it's difficult to let him express himself without him taking over the movie. The Bros. rein him in overmuch. When Carrey switches between his two personalities, he basically restructures his face; it's an amazing effect, essentially unique in current cinema, but it also wears pretty thin after the fourth or fifth time. It probably would have been better to let him be progressively more outrageous with his transformations, to demarcate between selves more. This would have allowed him to put more of himself into the moments when he must show affection or regret, which seem curiously restrained here. (He isn't helped by the Bros. relentlessly flat, unimaginative direction.) More physicality earlier would have also paved the way for Carrey's eye-popping closing set piece in which his two personalities fight for his body, using his body; as it is, one registers respect for Carrey's incredible talent, but also puzzlement at why this unflamboyant character has suddenly burst a screw here, instead of much, much earlier.

Don't get the impression that "Me, Myself & Irene" isn't funny, because it contains some of the most hilarious things you'll see onscreen this year. But throughout the film, as the Bros. strive for qualities essentially alien to the gross-out comedy, you can see the flaws in the structure, the seams in the psychological tapestry, the poor construction quality of the whole thing. Either the Farrelly Bros. should learn how to script and direct a film (and not just a gross-out comedy) before they try to do this again, or they should be really careful in the future to set their reach exactly equal to their grasp.

POLICIES

Look, I don't care if Anna Kournikova and Cam Neely do have cameos in the film. I'm going to review it just as if they didn't. Because what do cameos really do for a film? It's not like Kournikova gets naked or anything. That would definitely have rated a mention. Probably a recommendation, as far as that goes. But we can't lament what we don't have. We must concentrate on what we do have. Which I believe is a film of some sort. At least, last time I checked it was. It may have biodegraded by now.

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