The Farrelly Brothers' attempt at high concept comedy. It's not hard to imagine the pitch meeting to Jim Carrey: "OK Jim, in this one you get to combine the sensitivity of Truman Burbank along with the manic face-pulling you've done in all your other films!"
Unfortunately, like some of the misspent high concept adventures of the 80s (Days of Thunder anyone?), Me, Myself and Irene falls well short of the mark as far as a comedy spectacular is concerned.
It's the highly anticipated new movie from the makers of There's something about Mary, and like its 1998 predecessor it arrives on these shores replete with the traditional controversy that accompanies the works of the writer/director brothers. The treatment of 'Mary's' handicapped brother is now a distant memory - this year the outcry concerns the alter-ego of mildmannered State Trooper Charlie Baileygates (Jim Carrey), a raspy, evil and, let's face it, complete loony called 'Hank'.
Is the furore over the portrayal of schizophrenics justified? In a word, no. Charlie/Hank follows in the tradition of a Jekyll and Hyde character as much as anything else.
After being dumped by his wife for a highly intelligent but vertically challenged chauffeur, Charlie becomes the town dupe, ridiculed as a soft touch - the neighbours literally let their dog crap on his lawn. Pushed to the limit, Charlie is only able to give vent to his feelings through evil Hank, until he meets Irene Waters (Renee Zellweger), a waify temptress who may not be all she seems. Going on the run with her, unable to remember when Hank attacks, and yes, plenty of manic face-pulling by Carrey later, a sort of denouement is reached.
You may ask why this review is so short on plot - the answer lies in the main flaw of this picture. The writer and director pay such disregard to the basics of keeping the story going that by half-time the laughs are virtually over.
By the end, when Charlie/Hank literally wrestle each other for control of the Baileygates body the viewer is beyond laughing at Carrey or feeling sympathy for his plight. Instead, the editing provokes a confused 'what's going on?' sensation, as if the desire for laughs overruled everything else in the post-production.
Sure, there's gloop, defecation, ways of quieting policemen never imagined before, but there's too much wastage. By the end of its run in the US, There's Something About Mary had competed more than successfully with Armageddon and Godzilla and grossed over $175m.
Latest analysis shows that Irene will come in at about $85m. Are our American cousins implying the new film is half as funny? Having said all that, there are some gloriously tasteless moments and more than one laugh out loud scenes, many involving the genius creations of Carrey's three children.
