So yeah, highly disappointed by this one. From the moment its first trailer hit, though, it should've been apparent, the doom protruding. Admittedly, the trailer intrigued me tons at first, and I was riding shotgun here. But the more I revisited it, and then started seeing the nonsensical television spots, I grew increasingly more and more alarmed. Am I in store for a Pursuit of Happyness surprise, or a catastrophic fuck-of-cluster?
The latter, sadly. Very much the latter.
First things first, I do want to give some well-earned love to co-star Rosario Dawson, who elevates a whatever character into a really sympathetic and infinitely endearing woman, and her performance is pretty great. I've always thought that Dawson, aside from being drop-dead scrumptious and a total nerd in real life (in interviews, she professes love for everything from old school horror to comic books....*sigh*). Here in Seven Pounds, she plays "Emily Posa," a friendly, kind lady who suffers from congenital heart failure, and her life-clock is ticking down to its final frame. As the somewhat-confusing plot goes: Will Smith's character, "Ben Thomas," catches wind, and as part of his redemption-mission to save the lives of seven strangers decides to make the ultimate sacrifice for her. That is, of course, until he rather-too-quickly falls in love with her, which fucks up his plans something predictable.
Oh, and Emily has a black-and-white-fur-colored, Great Dane, named "Duke," who's a vegetarian. Props to Duke---the beast of a pooch has some serious acting chops. He's no Vincent the Dog from Lost, though. But still more than able.
What up, Duke!
And that's really the only aspect of Seven Pounds I can vouch for, because everything else left an angered after-effect, rather than its intended "uplift" or "evaluate your own life, sucker" messages. First off, the central conceit of "tormented man seeking salvation through tireless giving" is a bit much. I'm all for kindness and genuine care for others, but when our main character spontaneously gives up the huge, scenic beach house he inherited from his father to a domestically-battered mother of two, there's too many questions left untouched: What about taxes, for starters, considering that the mother comes from money-less, meager backing? Wouldn't she be kicked to the curb within like two months of living there?
Then, the ridiculous "jellyfish" plotline enters, and all narrative and believable hell breaks loose. I won't say too much about the role(s) said poisonous jellyfish plays, out of respect for the poor fools who still want to drop coin on the film, but let me put it this way: I'd be willing to bet a cool $200 that you'd laugh uncontrollably after I explained how this jellyfish comes into play during the finale. As hoped by Smith and director Gabriele Muccino, its supposed to be symbolic, moving, and heroic in its employment. In reality, though, the jellyfish (which looks too much like poorly-digitized CGI) is the final nail in this flick's coffin. Because, first off, the way the jellyfish is introduced so clearly telegraphs that it'll be used in some "important" way as things unfold. And then the "Ben Smith" character starts lugging this giant fishtank around with him, which in and of itself is a bit funny to watch.
So many questions remain: Didn't Ben's brother "Tim" say he'd come knocking out Emily's door if Ben didn't come right back out? Then how does Ben get away with bumping uglies, and then snuggling under sheets? Where'd Tim go? Was he just watching like a Gordnick (my Jersey friends should get this reference) peeping tom, jacking off? And, what was the point of the flashback moments, save for the highway accident? If you're going to show how Ben had a hot wife and a wealthy life, then explore it more.
Plot-gaps such as these would be excusable, honestly, if the screenwriter of Seven Pounds would've consulted a dictionary prior to signing off on final draft and looked up a little word known as "subtlety." Or maybe the blame should fall more on the shoulders of Smith (star, who's smart enough to see pretentious dribble before him/producer, natch) and/or director Muccino. I mean, they shot the damn thing, right?
You have Woody Harrelson totally wasted, but we're better off that he was, really, since his performance is the epitome of "awkward discomfort." He must've realized how ludicrous everything is/was, but figured, "Well, its a Will Smith project, so it should make some bank at least." Same goes for the usually-reliable Barry Pepper, who's few scenes here tip past the edge of overacting.
Will Smith's performance isn't a total failure---"total" being the operative word. There are some scenes where he reminds you how magnetic he can be on screen, but then there's also a bunch where his attempts at "manic" and "explosive" come off too forced. Key example: an early moment where he's calling a blind man, randomly, and berating the poor sightless guy in an effort to test the blind man's "good nature," which he proves, leading Ben to hang up and subsequently shout seven names in a fit of hysteria. It's way overboard. Not the naturalistic Smith we're used to, like the amazing stuff he did in I Am Legend. The "Robert Neville" character in Legend, in fact, has tons in common with Ben Thomas here; both are severely damaged widowers, both at the end of their respective rope, contemplating suicide but holding off "the end" due to glimmers of unexpected hope. It's too bad that Ben Thomas is a terribly-written character, in a long, bleak-for-bleak's sake film.
The worst thing about Seven Pounds, above all else mentioned already, is how big of a safe cop-out it really is. Without revealing too much of what's going on, for SPOILER SENSITIVE purposes, I'll attempt to break it down as censored as possible. Basically, the bottom-line, nuts-and-bolts story here comes down to a man killing himself, slowly but surely, for the sake of extreme charity, yet you're expected to forget that while watching. Instead, you'll see a sappy romance blossom, or a slapstick-y bit where Duke the dog overpowers the Smith character while being held by leash down a sidewalk. What isn't explored enough, though, is just how terrifying and morbid his endeavor truly is. In the hands of braver filmmakers and stars, it'd be hard-R, Requiem for a Dream-ish material if centered solely on the psyche of the soon-to-be-savior. But not here. Here, it's cookie-cutting sentimentality.
I'm sure Smith is largely to blame for such character-arch decision making, so to that, I offer this.....if Smith, as a result of the inevitable critic-bashing this flick receives, ever feels the urge to chin-check himself, to discover what a truly-fearless, don't-care-about-being-the-high-and-mighty-superstar actor would do, he should just buy a ticket to see Mickey Rourke in The Wrestler. "Randy 'The Ram' Robinson'.....now there's an antithesis to Seven Pounds' "Ben Thomas."
I'll stop now, though, because Seven Pounds is a film that I'd love to pick apart, discuss with people after they've also endured it. I just can't look past a movie that so blatantly wears its "Oscar bait" tag, and fails to justify itself in any way. I'd love for Rosario Dawson's career to skyrocket thanks to her quality work here, but that's doubtful. The reviews will all say shit to the effect of "Dawson does her best, but even her fine work isn't enough....."
Here's something I thought I'd never say: halfway through Seven Pounds, I found myself wishing that those alien-looking, horrible-CGI-heavy creatures from I Am Legend would come crashing into Emily's shed, end Ben's misery early, and then rewrite the rest of the film as a Rosario Dawson/"Emily Posa" story. Only. At least the overly-stylized feel of Seven Pounds would've been stripped down to "okay, there's no Will Smith, hence no need for extra sheen" levels of simplicity. An audience member can dream.
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