FILM: Stranger than Fiction Review

Strange because it’s nearly nonfiction

He smiled. I’ve never seen a comedian smile, I thought. Not many comedians are attractive. In fact, most comedians, or funny guys in general, are only attractive because they’re funny. It’s what I imagine Sarah Silverman sees in Jimmy Kimmel. But in that moment, when I saw Harold Crick—or Will Ferrell who disappeared within Harold Crick—smile as he watched a funny film in a theater, it was the first time I thought he was very handsome. It was a genuine smile…or so I think. He is an actor after all. I tried very hard to think about all the movies I’ve seen him in: Old School, Anchorman, Wedding Crashers, etc. and I couldn’t think of any time when he didn’t forcefully give a goofy grin or a nervous smirk or a bewildered look, his lips half cocked.

He never gets to play characters at lower decibels. It kind of reminds me of Jerry Lewis or even Amanda Bynes. Whenever they did or do comedy, their facial features are feng shuied until the crowd is doing crunches, their mouths gaping like dilated pupils. No, I did not laugh out loud. But, there were certainly moments where I faintly snickered. I feel bad for those who Black Friday-ed the theaters, two-to-a-seat, to see what wily character Ferrell would pull out of his hat this time. Having had a multitude of Paul Revere’s, I knew not to expect that tense sensation one has in their gut after laughing for what seem like hours but are mere minutes. I knew that Ferrell was going for something else. Something deeper than Jack Black’s maniacal punting of a dog off of a bridge—despite how sadistically funny that was. I knew that he would have to face imminent death and that something had to be funny about that. But normally a person knowing they’re going to die, like cancer patients and those inflicted with AIDs, don’t find this sort of scenario that hilarious. Is there something wrong with us that we do?

Emma Thompson, who I have seen in very few films—Junior, Love Actually, Harry Potter, and Nanny McPhee—was a pathetic sight to endure throughout the film. Her character, Karen’s, persistent desire to kill off the heroes of her books seemed secretly suicidal, especially since she always envisioned herself dieing instead of the hero. It wasn’t until the end of the film, when she’s properly groomed and dressed, that she seems to possess any respectable qualities. I guess you’re supposed to hate her, because she’s going to kill poor, defenseless Crick. But she is just doing her job—and unknowingly at that.

In the moment, when your vision readjusts itself to this new Karen, she awakens something in the viewer, almost like an epiphany, a thought, an idea that was always there, but was suddenly uncovered by this new and improved Karen. She said, “It’s a book about a man who doesn’t know he’s about to die, then dies. But if the man does know he’s going to die and dies anyway—dies willingly knowing he could stop it—then…I mean, isn’t that the type of man you want to keep alive?”

This movie isn’t funny, because it’s true. It isn’t about some poor schlub who faces doom. Karen is God—albeit almost every woman’s depiction of the holy being. Think about how God spends Her day. If you ask yourself what happens every day no matter what, everywhere and anywhere, you couldn’t say that the sunrises. In some continents, that only happens half the year. You could, however, say that every day someone dies. Therefore God spends every day trying to figure out how someone is going to die and who that someone is going to be. In Catholic scripture, churchgoers are taught that God loves all his children, even if they commit sins. He will welcome them into his heart and his home with as equal affection as a non-sinner—not that there’s such a thing. The reason for that—or what I believe to be the reason—is because after all the tests and trials that these sinners have endured, they still return to him and seek forgiveness. They’ve been shown that this world blows and it isn’t going to get any better, and yet they still turn away from a life where they could possibly find happiness in doing evil things and turn towards him. That’s called blind faith. There’s no proof that She exists or that there’s a heaven or that we’re getting 40 virgins when we kick it. In having blind faith, we sacrifice our free will to disobey Her.

Harold Crick sacrificed himself for a little boy because he blindly believed that it was his destiny to give that boy a second chance. And in turn, God or Karen gave him a second chance. His blind faith and self sacrifice saved him. That’s what the movie was about: taking risks.

A bottled up IRS agent who could not distinguish the moments in his life that were “significant” from the “mundane” ones—because they melded—risked his heart and his job to live for the first time in his life. Therefore, the moral of the “unfunny” story is that sometimes it pays to sacrifice everything, or else you’ll never have anything actually worth living for.