In Which You're So Money And You're Overly Aware Of It

A Real Man Doesn't Like Quiche

by ALEX CARNEVALE

Iron Man 2

dir. Jon Favreau

124 minutes

My least favorite part of Swingers has always been the ending. The perennially pathetic Mike (Jon Favreau) stumbles through a pseudo-documentary about Los Angeles that does the disservice of reminding us that Vince Vaughn was once under three hundred pounds, and he ends up with Heather Graham before she turned into Jessica from Who Framed Roger Rabbit?

At the time, it was thought unbelievable that the squash-shaped Favreau could nab such a creature. Now he's the director of a $200 million dollar motion picture event and Graham is doing theatrical reenactments of the best part of Boogie Nights and her scene from The Hangover at a bar in Missoula, Montana.

It was obvious from Swingers that Favreau prized a happy ending over all else; his numerous clichéd homages to his favorite films - Goodfellas, Reservoir Dogs - were desperate attempts to be loved, to satisfy the audience in the same way those films satisfied him. In Iron Man 2, Favreau delivers his ultimate crowd-pleasing movie, a collection of lively big-budget action sequences and meta-jokes that reminds me of so many things, it reminds me of nothing in particular.

It was also clear from Swingers that Favreau loves pastiche and collage even more than Francis Bacon. If he didn't, he wouldn't have had to fill Swingers with ad-libs, references, and catchphrases galore. The unloved are always seeking it, and Favreau's desperate "character" left so many messages on that young lady's answering machine, one had to get returned.

Iron Man 2 is an even more winsome plea for crowd-pleasing love; the movie winks at its audience so often it develops a twitch. There has never been a film with less of a story that was so incredibly captivating for no real reason outside of the expense spared to put it together. Yet the film wouldn't work at all without the only two talented actors cast in Iron Man 2: those being Robert Downey Jr. as Tony Stark, and Mickey Rourke as the devilish Whiplash.

in a mix-up, he asked Favreau what it was like to have intercourse with Rachel WeiszIt's not really surprising that Rourke reportedly had no idea what the movie was about, because he probably wouldn't have tried half as hard if he did know. Like the vast majority of actors cast today, he is there mostly because of reasons other than that he was good for the role. Rourke makes the best of it by stealing every scene he's in, including a jaw-dropping sequence on a Monaco racetrack. His Russian accent is almost unintelligible, and he gets more laughs out of a toothpick and a cockatoo than Sam Rockwell does from the entire character of Stark's other rival, weapons manufacturer Justin Hammer.

hey sam, I hear the census is looking for pplSam Rockwell was almost cast by Favreau as Iron Man the first time around, and thank god Downey Jr. got sufficiently sober for the part. It is high time Sam Rockwell fell from grace, since his "acting" consists of two modes, neither of which is particularly entertaining after you've experienced it for more than thirty seconds. There is the Sam Rockwell who ruined Moon by overacting so badly that Nicolas Cage claimed a copyright violation. Then there is the Zaphod Beeblebrox-Sam Rockwell who is super-hyped up all the time and clearly internalized too much of Tom Cruise's performance in Magnolia.

This is an ideal transition, because the only person with less respect for women than Favreau is Justin Theroux, screenwriter of Iron Man 2. Gifted with the legendary Marvel character of the Black Widow, these two geniuses cast Scarlett Johansson, whose idea of acting is narrowing her eyes, pouting and delivering everything in a husky monotone. After every single thing she does in the film, Scarlett spins, poses and stares straight into the lens. Also, the only move she really has involves her simply wrapping her legs around her opponent's head and spinning them to the ground in a hurancanrana, which is only a valid offensive move in lucha libre. Considering every other act of violence in the film is an energy weapon, it's amazing she survives until the end.

I was never much of an actor, although I did once play the only Russian character in a vaguely anti-Semitic high school production of Fiddler on the Roof. Yet even I know that it's bad policy to stare at the camera like it's a piece of bacon in every scene, as Scarlett does here. We can only assume that Favreau was so entranced by the dailies that his note to Scarlett was "more pouty, more widow." Despite this, Scarlett mainly gets a pass because she is so overshadowed by the meta-disaster that is the presence of Gwyneth Paltrow as Tony's assistant Pepper Potts. Haven't you read my review of Two Lovers? Are you aware that it's tongue-in-cheek?

let's hope this image doesn't inspire a reboot of the fantastic four because I don't think I can handle that right meowNow that Gwyneth has survived Chris Martin cheating on her and writing songs for his ex with all the dignity you would expect given that she hasn't blogged about it, her weirdly boisterous romance with Tony Stark takes center stage here. She has two kids under the age of 6 (named Apple and Moses, just like in the Bible) and a husband who's completely unaware of how little talent he has, I feel nothing but compassion for Gwyneth. I feel even worse that the most likely Black Widow storyline for the next sequel involves her capping Pepper Potts in the face, albeit after wrapping her legs around Pepper's blonde head in what is sure to become a YouTube sensation.

pepper, that's incredibly unhygienic dear The film's two African-American characters are similarly caught up in the hex of their previous performances. I didn't realize Nick Fury was Vincent Vega's partner until the moment he started using the exact same vocal mannerisms as a gag. Then again, I never really got the point of Nick Fury; did Captain America really need an invalid ordering him around?

Don Cheadle replaces Terrence Howard as War Machine, and he's apparently the dumbest living member of the American military, a crack organization that gets regularly thrown under the bus here. In just under two hours it is victimized by weapons manufacturers, career criminals, and its own personnel, not to mention both Larry Sanders and Roger Sterling. Cheadle doesn't get a punchline in the whole movie, so he must have told Justin Theroux that he didn't understand a single second of Mulholland Drive.

before we bang tongue, what was the deal with the opera scene? It's distracting that we even have to think about all these things that really have nothing to do with Iron Man 2, but the whole movie is pretty much a joke on the comic (which let's face it was no great shakes to begin with) and on the people Favreau casts to play these not-particularly-deep characters. When I go back and look at Swingers now, it's home video of two people who went onto drastically different careers. The only common element is the size of their underwear. Watching the director of Iron Man 2 playing golf with the guy who dumped Carrie Bradshaw via post-it note ("I'm sorry, I can't, don't hate me") lends a whole new meaning to the original proceedings, one that was never really intended.

In Iron Man 2, the references are all intentional. There's even jabs at Scarlett and Gwyneth for fighting on set. It's all in there, each part of the process, in the film's sixty-seven subplots. Even now, Favreau's still the guy on the answering machine who includes every detail, anything that might be relevant. Like Swingers, Iron Man 2 is propelled by the steam of its star, who carries off Stark's sweet narcissism better than Vince Vaughn ever did. He's a chatterbox who can't control anything he says, and since he's a billionaire, he lets it all fly no matter the effect on the people around him. Favreau is out to prove that if you keep talking, or in this case, if you keep blowing something up, eventually something you say will have to be entertaining.

Alex Carnevale is the editor of This Recording. He tumbls here. He last wrote in these pages on the letters of Anne Sexton.

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In Which We Look Back On The Larry Sanders Show

We Did It All For Larry

by ELEANOR MORROW

Garry Shandling would have been the perfect host of late night talk show, but instead he gave us The Larry Sanders Show, 89 brilliant episodes about being backstage at one. It was the first multi-camera sitcom that took advantage of the form, and probably the best ever done. They could run it on HBO today, promote it like a new show, and it would feel like one except for the noticeable lack of cell phones.

Garry Shandling has a puffy, round face like a blowfish, and a gee whiz surface personality. You don't expect a blowfish to have charisma, but Larry had it, and a Jewish sex appeal, and a likeability that would have made him the perfect person to come home to every night. Fortunately, he was a better sitcom star.

Unlike Larry David and Woody Allen, Sanders doesn't hate himself. He loves himself more than anything, except for perhaps his show. Bill Carter's classic recounting of the war over The Tonight Show proved how lonely and depraved such people were to try and do comedy day after day. You can't do comedy in this fashion, to offer something fresh and new is impossible.

This format is the epitome of The Show Must Go On. Larry is a trooper. He may not do his show live, but he does it live on tape.

Airing on HBO from 1992-1998, Larry took the backstage showbiz cliche and perfected it until it was startlingly original. No show had ever had such a perfect ensemble cast, but Larry was the bulbous center. He was the name on the show, the man who has to go out there every night and brave the elements.

What we learned along the way was that he had to survive a constant barrage of backstage elements, too: producers jostling over how to handle him, office assistants who need to be appreciated and loved, network suits that wanted to replace him with someone younger and less Jewish, writers who needed his approval and their jokes on the air. Oh to be Larry!

Above all, there was the sex. Near his happy home (it once belonged to Johnny) Shandling has a strange sex life. The sexual politics of The Larry Sanders Show were those of the early 1990s, when this weird Victorianism that was floating back into American culture began to take root. For now, the guests of The Larry Sanders Show loved to have sex with anyone and everyone, but they didn't feel that great about it afterwards.

Between these encounters, the behind-the-scenes was generally fraught with envy and hatred. The Larry Sanders Show is supposed to be a satire, but it was also just as good doing real life.

In one episode, Larry got Ellen DeGeneres on the show, slept with her before the interview, tried to get her to admit her character on Ellen was gay on the air, and got ambushed by Ellen on the show for his trouble, and yelled at by his lesbian fuck-buddy afterwards. It simply doesn't pay to try to draw ratings.

Underneath his persona, Larry loved being in the business, but he didn't like being in the business. He was more comfortable with his ego being the biggest in the room.

Larry was constantly buttressed by two polar opposite figures. The first is his producer Artie, played by Rip Torn in the finest comic performance since Basil Fawlty.

This was the role of Torn's life, and you can see the cheeky fun he has playing someone who will do anything for the show, and anything for Larry, even though he may not completely like it. As a result, Artie spent most of his days lying to his friend, and keeping other people off Larry's back.

Jeffrey Tambor immortalized the role of Larry's sidekick Hank Kingsley, doing Leaving Las Vegas but as a comedy bit and stringing it over six marvelous seasons. Hank is the saddest loser in the history of American television, and Tambor gave himself over to the role of bald-headed insecure prick. These three elements would have been enough for a fantastic sitcom, but the rest of the cast was just as good.

Janeane Garofalo played the crass booker Paula before giving way to Mary Lynn Rajskub's more understated performance. Garofalo never found a better role. Wallace Langham and Jeremy Piven were Larry's writers, before Larry fired Piven for banging Hayden Panettiere. Sarah Silverman also made several amazing appearances as a writer on the show.

Penny Johnson was Larry's assistant, a strong black woman in a time when network television tended to avoid them, and Linda Doucett (later Shandling's girlfriend) was Hank's bosomy, hilarious assistant. Bob Odenkirk was Larry's agent, among many young comedians who burst onto the national stage with a small part in play in Larry's sad little life.

Larry's wives were also fascinating. I preferred Larry's more dickish first wife, Francine, but his second wife Jeannie had her moments too.

Utterly obsessed with himself, Larry has a hard time dealing with a woman as an equal since he is the only man and the only woman in his life.

Underneath that surly veneer was a comedian who just wanted to be liked. The Larry Sanders Show was funny people before Funny People; shit, Judd Apatow did his best writing for this HBO gem. Every comedian has something inside them that needs more approval, now, faster. When you have to watch yourself every single night, it's a bear. Larry does it though; otherwise, he can't appreciate what other people see in him.

Eleanor Morrow is the senior contributor to This Recording. She tumbls right here for your pleasure.

You can download the first season of The Larry Sanders Show here.

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