I Love You, Man

Like any other movie written, produced, or, in this case, merely inspired by Judd Apatow, I Love You, Man gives you every possible reason not to see it. Of course, you see it anyway, because from past experience you know that any other movie written, produced, or, in this case, merely inspired by Judd Apatow looks puerile and clueless but possesses within its Peter Pan-y insouciance that small, sad, destructible germ that makes us want to be close to people and love them and remain young and wondering, and which we protect so quickly and unconsciously when we forget how old we really are, how much time and intelligence have already gone through and out of us, and how much we miss being a part of the easy, instinctual person from which we matured. Paul Rudd, as always, charms and delights with his insecurity and boy-goofiness. Jason Segel has a guitar and dog and speaks unpredictable genius. The dialogue is snappy and original without being either smug or clever to the point of distraction. Each supporting role is memorable and necessary, and each scene works cleanly and organically, contributing to the story and complicating its characters without self-consciousness or the awkward reluctance of mere narrative. I continually find myself surprised by how smart and poignant and genuine these apparently vulgar exercises in adolescence turn out to be. Why do I not remember to be more respectful? Then again, with each surprise comes a revelatory smack, and I do enjoy my Joycean conduits to eternity.

You know what I think every time I see one of these things? Honestly, I wish all movies were like this. That's what I think. And then I go ruin the moment by watching Poltergeist, which is much more ridiculous and much less scary than when I was eight.

Remember James Bond, remember James Bond, remember James Bond, remember James Bond. Now, what was I saying?

Slothrop: Yes, it's true Koko. What you say is. Movies like this are good because they remind us that youth and being young isn't entirely as hateful as we think it is now. That youth is wasted on the young is a mostly justifiable claim, but if it weren't for that waste, that compost, no future fertile garden would grow. From my current self-righteous perspective, I feel I could sell all of Youth at the corner pawn shop for $11.53. But let's remember this: we all die young, whatever age that might be. It's just that some of us, in growing up, forget that becoming wiser doesn't mean we necessarily have to become older. Youth, in fact, makes its main mistakes of utter callous self-selfishness for approximately 28 years. 30 and counting in Slothrop's case, but I'm more stupid than most. Adults, on the other hand, make their mistake of thinking themselves above and better than youth for the remaining 50 years of life, spending approximately twice as long being lugubrious goobers but without the excuse of immaturity and lack of experience. So yes, this movie I will watch as soon as I see Food Inc., The Hurt Locker, and Inglorious Basterds in the movie theaters if only I had someone to go with me why won't nobody go with me to the movies doesn't Koko love me at all she would if she really did watch this, wouldn't she?

Koko: I have matches on Saturday and Monday, so maybe Sunday? Is Food, Inc. still playing anywhere? Man, I had the worst practice session tonight. I hate tennis. I love movies. Let's watch movies, Slothrop.