Joy — film evaluation: ‘A wry swipe at American optimism’

Jennifer Lawrence in David O. Russell's 'Joy'

Jennifer Lawrence in David O. Russell’s ‘Joy’

Something is running around, difficult to catch, in David O. Russell’s Joy. At initial you want to trap it, or zap it, with one of the multi-function mops patented by the inventor heroine (Jennifer Lawrence). You realise, eventually, what it is. It’s the film’s mis­chievous subtext. It is the answer to the question, “Why are we watching this feelgood, even hokum-ish story, primarily based on true events, about a self-created lady who marketed a household tool?”

Russell is a mischief-maker. Three Kings was a war film as opposed to a war film, a lot more a black comedy in a fire-zone. Silver Linings Playbook was a feral fairy tale. Joy, like his last film American Hustle, is about the American dream. But with Russell the American dream is an antic, elusive issue, far more like the oneiric tatters that form a dream as you slip in or out of it.

Far more

Nigel Andrews

Joy’s first hour is loose, ludic, exhilarating. Right here, largely beneath one particular roof, is a working-class dynasty that is all proximity and no relating. Joy, primarily based on real mop inventor and later millionairess Joy Mangano, is a struggling blonde scatterbrain dreaming up hit-or-miss gizmos (wonderfully played by Lawrence). Mum (Virginia Madsen) lies on bed all day watching soap operas. Semi-estranged dad pops in and out, played by Robert De Niro in his twangy, vibrant-loser Woody Allen style. Add Joy’s husband, who wants to be the subsequent Tom Jones, and granny (Diane Ladd), who delivers the script’s best line. “You were born to be the unanxious presence in the space,” she tells Joy.

Even when the film sails close to accurate-story triteness, teledrama-style, the director as ironist is at function. As Joy goes ahead of the purchasing channel cameras, nervously wielding her mop below the lights although chirruping of single-weave cleaning heads detachable for machine-washing, I thought of a famous painting by Richard Hamilton — that pop-art paragon and paradigm of the 1950s — titled “Just what is it that makes today’s houses so different, so attractive?” Russell achieves the exact same blend of consumer cheesiness, collage exuberance and bizarre bliss-out. And when Bradley Cooper turns up playing the tycoon as dream hero, a suave comic-book hunk, you can add Roy Lichtenstein to Richard Hamilton.

Postmodern wryness is a risky style. It is via faith as considerably as cause, at times, that we credit Russell with intending a wry swipe at American optimism simultaneously with a loving handshake. You need two hands for that or 1 hand more quickly than light. In some scenes we sense that second wizardry. There is a corporation waiting area, huge, modernist and Valhalla-shadowed, that resembles an Ayn Rand dream or nightmare. As imagery it is each awesome and lunatic. And watch for Isabella Rossellini as De Niro’s new consort, a witchily glamorous business boss with a sly, unerring instinct for hindering the young although pretending to help. It’s this actress’s best, and spookiest, role considering that Blue Velvet.

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Section: Arts

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