[To expiate the guilt I might feel about inflicting the following possibly hurtful critical excoriation upon as humble and well-intentioned a film as Peep World, I am going to pepper it with statements that might be taken out of context by publicists and used as positive write-ups.]
“Peep World is a rare achievement,” a clumsy, amateurish, ill-conceived, no-budget indie comedy featuring an unjustifiably talented cast, which it proceeds to waste in every way imaginable. We might have expected better from director Barry W. Blaustein too: although he’s far from a household name, and did direct The Ringer, he was also responsible for a number of memorable Eddie Murphy vehicles (Boomerang, Coming to America) and the cult pro-wrestling exposé Beyond the Mat.
“Sarah Silverman gives this performance her all, pushing herself to and beyond the [limits]” of her natural talent, so it’s unfortunate that her character is a bland cardboard cutout, the annoying stock character of “the bitter failed actress.” It’s also disappointing that the otherwise talented comedian here plays a decidedly unfunny character: this is a serious dramatic role, at which she acquits herself ardently and pitifully. This isn’t even to suggest that I don’t think her capable of serious dramatic acting; it’s just that the script is so weak, the character she’s been provided with so “not really there,” that her histrionic exertions, incongruous with the languid construction of “Cheri,” can’t help but evoke uncomfortable laughter. And “one of the great tragicomedies of our time” must be the casting of the super-talented Michael C. Hall as architect Jack, who truly does his best with an anodyne put-upon breadwinner who furtively visits peep shows-character.
“The story of Peep World is a time-honored one,” so much so that we’re probably all sick of it by now: self-consciously literary author Nathan Meyerwitz (Ben Schwartz), who would like to think of himself as the Philip Roth or Norman Mailer of his generation, has written the best-selling Peep Show: a thinly-veiled exposé of his dysfunctional family, who seem to be coping with their exposure in different ways. More quietly resentful is lawyer Joel (Rainn Wilson, also much too good for this film), the family ne’er-do-well, a fact made apparent to us in the highly expository opening scenes when his Escalade suffers a flat tire and some improperly stowed documents fly out of the back of his car, because as we’re well aware, history’s great tragic characters are less victims of hamartia or tragic flaws in their character from which ill-fortunes debouch than mildly unlucky and often faced with minor inconveniences. After all, for Joel’s character to be convincingly tragic, he would have to have one of these — in other words, a writer would have had to provide him with one — so, in retrospect, this was the wiser choice.
Cheri’s gall at being outed in Nathan’s book for sleeping with the entire cast of Tony and Tina’s Wedding is further exacerbated when she learns that the film version of Peep World is being shot just outside of her house — which is really funny, apparently; but imagine if that happened! The film valiantly attempts to weave together about five major subplots: Jack’s marital strife with his wife Laura (Judy Greer, who, like her co-stars Lewis Black, Ron Rifkin, Lesley Ann Warren, Taraji P. Henson, and Kate Mara, has been in real movies); Nathan’s visit to a urologist with an acute case of ejaculatio praecox and having to make a book-signing event while hosting a medically induced killer-erection; Joel and his girlfriend Mary’s impending baby; and the strained relationships of the family patriarch, Henry, and all of his children; others.
For these reasons, it could be argued that Peep World is “a complex film of epic scope,” but a plot with this many convolutions requires a broader canvas than a film just under 90 minutes. As a result, it plays a bit like a television pilot: a beginning with barely any middle and no end. Screenwriter Peter Himmelstein seems to have no ear for dialogue or, for that matter, introductory speeches given by the events coordinators of bookstores. Parodies of “self-consciously literary”-literature are always a slippery slope, especially since they’re basically tantamount to “making fun of art,” which in this context — an unfunny comedy — is an unintentional joke.
