By Alan Scherstuhl
By Stephanie Zacharek
By Carolina Del Busto
By Amy Nicholson
By Simon Abrams
By Kevin Dilmore
By New Times
By Amy Nicholson
Besides, by the time we reach the film's romantic ground zero, when a reluctant Kevin Spacey finally pulls out his Peacemaker to give Helen Hunt a little Deep Impact, Leder has reined us in with her blitzkrieg of benevolence. Resistance is futile.
But that's leaping ahead a bit. Set in the viper's nest of Vegas, where strip bars flash with unlikely production values (not to mention glitzy choreography) and cuddly homeless folks munch Dumpster yummies like friendly apes, Pay It Forward introduces us to Eugene Simonet (Spacey), a social studies teacher who kicks off the school year by greeting his class of world-weary seventh-graders with an unusual challenge.
"Yes, there is a world out there," he announces, "and even if you don't want to meet it, it's still going to hit you right in the face."
Indeed, something has hit Eugene right in the face, eliciting an initial gasp from his punk munchkins, as Spacey's neck and much of his lower jaw are covered in rubber cement designed to look like scar tissue. His challenge -- complete with extra credit -- is simple: Go do something that changes the world for the better. Due to some deep, inexplicable spiritual longing (perhaps, who knows, having to do with seeing dead people?), 11-year-old Trevor McKinney (Haley Joel Osment) overrides his initial skepticism and decides to embrace the project.
Naturally, he immediately invites a homeless junkie named Jerry (James Caviezel) home for some peanut butter crunch and a flop. This creates a stir in the McKinney home, however, as Trevor's alcoholic single mother, Arlene (Hunt) works two jobs (by day a casino change girl, by night a strip club waitress) and has no time for peculiar surprises, only dependable, clandestine dates with her vodka bottle, which she keeps hidden in the washing machine. Trevor is unable to conceal his derelict charge for long and, despite his timid presence (emphasized by a tee shirt with a deer on it), pop goes Caviezel. Arlene, enraged by what she perceives as Eugene's indirect meddling in her unhappy tract house, lets her rigid nipples lead her to the lair of the exceedingly eloquent but emotionally shielded teacher. An obvious match made in heaven (she's brash, he's defensive, they're both grotesque), the unlikely lovers get off on a terribly wrong foot, with Eugene praising Trevor's exegesis and Arlene feeling subjugated by the teacher's superior vocabulary. Enraged at Eugene's seeming smugness, she attacks his pet project, even when he attempts to defer responsibility for his students' actions, explaining, "Every now and then, they clean up a little graffiti before they lose interest."
A framing device and parallel story illustrate that Trevor's take on the assignment -- the cheesy pay-it-forward paradigm of the movie's promotional campaign (basically a plea for random acts of kind malarkey, in triplicate) -- has lost no one's interest, and even gained momentum across the country. While Trevor's classmates initiate some truly inventive schemes (one clever boy proudly establishes a Web site to cajole all the children in China to jump up and down at the same time, thereby throwing the Earth off its axis), our boy-hero's plan for happy favors grows a life of its own.
Cultivated by a wide spectrum of characters, ranging from token black convict Sidney (David Ramsey) to a sharp-witted white lawyer called Thorsen (Gary Wentz, the director's husband), the concept of paying it forward spreads. Connecting these dots is Chris Chandler (Jay Mohr), a crass, fast-talking Los Angeles reporter ("You've gone dotty! You're wearing crystal! You're keeping a few too many cats at home!") who ardently pursues the steadily growing phenomenon with his eye on the Pulitzer. When, in the movie's disjointed opening sequence, Chandler's Mustang is destroyed at a crime scene, the lawyer immediately bestows to him, with no strings attached, the keys to his pristine new Jaguar (perhaps a metaphor for Mohr's rising fees since Jerry Maguire).
As the film's knowing testament to its own cuteness, Chandler initially refuses the gift, asking if it's merely an incentive for him to kill Thorsen's wife. "No," replies Wentz, deadpan. "Tempting . . . but no."
This sort of self-reflexive wink-wink would be utterly intolerable if it didn't fit so well into the project's disarming, down-with-it atmosphere. This is, after all, a world in which mothers allow their young sons to apply their deodorant; in which the nation is casually dismissed as "a shithole"; in which bad kids (who sneak thuddingly foreshadowed knives past their school's post-Columbine metal detectors) wear their requisite Bugle Boy fashions with pride.
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