Mr. Play It Safe Was Afraid to Fly
Chaos Theory / Dustin Rowles
My first thought after watching Chaos Theory, released on DVD this week after a lackluster theatrical release in which it only amassed a paltry $250,000, was that the movie was probably one of those films that sat on a shelf for several years, and that the studio — after Ryan Reynolds became a huge mega-star — decided to release it now to capitalize on his massive box-office prowess. But then I remembered, despite my own man-crush on Ryan Reynolds (temporarily suspended), that he doesn’t actually have much of a Hollywood presence and that these bland, forgettable romantic comedies are pretty much par for the course in his career. Then I consulted the Boozehound archives and found the appropriate alcoholic beverage with which to drown my sorrows, and began working my way toward a Level III hangover while listening to Alanis Morissette albums and surfing the Internet for a support group dedicated to adults who feel the pain of celebrity break-ups far too intensely.
I am so pathetic.
Chaos Theory is another in a long line of mediocre films devoted, thematically, to carpe diem, if seizing the day means doing everything a banal man going through a mid-age crisis would do. Frank (Reynolds) is an efficiency expert who gives corporate lectures devoted to the importance of time management, making lists, and never giving in to whim. In other words, he’s a guy with a huge stick up his butt (keep the jokes to yourself, people). However, he’s happily married to Susan (Emily Mortimer), who basically chose him as her husband eight years prior because, out of a group of four men, she preferred the nickname he had for his penis, which was — get this — “Truth.” (I’m not making this up). They have an eight year old daughter together.
(Mini-diversion: What do you call your funny business? Mine, according to the Penis Name Generator, is Gummi Worm)
However, Susan — occasionally annoyed by Frank’s anal retentiveness — decides one day to fuck with the clocks and alter his schedule. The result: He misses his ferry by one lousy minute, has to postpone his lecture by an hour, then nearly ends up sleeping with one of the members of the audience (Sarah Chalke in lingerie, people), before fleeing his hotel room and randomly stumbling upon a woman in labor, who he takes to the hospital. Misunderstandings pile on top of misunderstandings, and “comic” chaos ensues: Susan thinks that the baby is Frank’s and that he’s been leading a double life, which prompts Frank to get a paternity test to prove her wrong, which reveals that Frank is sterile and has been all his life, forcing him into only one logical conclusion: The baby that he’s been raising with Susan for eight years is not his own.
Bummer.
So, Frank falls into the same sort despair one achieves when he finds out his favorite celebrity couple is splitsville (I know, let it go, let it go) and decides via epiphany that, rather than living his structured life, he’s going to set his course by making a list of “outrageous” options and using them to randomly set his path. But like every other movie ever made about conservative people doing “wild and crazy shit” (see, e.g., The Bucket List), the choices he makes — ride a motorcycle! smoke cigarettes! go streaking at a hockey game! — are, like the movie, about as unpredictable as San Francisco’s weather.
In fact, there is nothing in Chaos Theory that hasn’t been mined six dozen times before, and the only interesting thing about the plot is its “The Simpson’s”-like trajectory: While it appears that the movie is going to be about one thing (Frank giving into whim), it turns into an almost completely different film about Frank coming to terms with the fact that his daughter does not biologically belong to him. Indeed, the film’s only redemptive qualities are in its cast: Mortimer is blithely adorable; Stuart Townsend, as Frank’s best friend, is decent, if not slightly wasted; while Reynolds has developed a second expression — wounded, heartbroken — to go along with the one-eyebrow sarcastic look that he and Jason Lee share. We can now consider him multi-faceted.
Still and all, it’s not a terrible movie, just a slightly below average one, hardly worth picking up the remote to turn on, but then again, not really worth the effort to changing the channel if it’s in your line of vision. It’s harmless, inoffensive, and genial, something to take your mind off the relationship struggles of Alanis Morissette for 90 minutes if you don’t have a lot of bourbon to spare.
But, on a side note, I do love Chaos Theory for one reason, and one reason alone: A couple of months ago, when the movie was initially released, I ran across Armond White’s New York Press review and wondered if he had used my hyperbolic, sarcastic James Lipton approach to review-writing when I read it, only to conclude that he’s being absolutely serious, which — in my eyes — makes it all the more hilarious. This guy may be the funniest fucking reviewer in the business. Here’s a taste:
Against the rank ineptitude of Leatherheads and the shameless stupidity of Forgetting Sarah Marshall, an excellent American romantic comedy has blessedly appeared … This humorous sense of what confounds people in their most personal interactions — the way Frank uncovers Susan’s sexual history and his own feelings of masculine camaraderie — links Taplitz to the screwball classicists that critics typically dredge up when writing about modern comic filmmakers. Even Reynolds’ controlled mania suggests Joel McCrea rather than Cary Grant, befitting a subtler screwball sensibility. Although Taplitz shows smarts to match Ernst Lubitsch and Samson Raphelson’s Continental sophistication, that’s not it. Neither does Frank’s stern lecture repeat Billy Wilder’s annoying mixture of cynicism and sentimentality. And Preston Sturges’ wild verbal dexterity isn’t it either. Taplitz stands alone, uniquely charting the insecurities of post-Production Code sex. That’s why Commandments satirized old-time morality to test modern-day fidelity … When Frank talks about phallic “Truth,” or the decor of his hotel assignation features vaginal Rorschach paintings, Taplitz is clearly on singular terrain.
And y’all think we’re pretentious.
Dustin Rowles is the publisher of Pajiba. He lives with his wife and son in Ithaca, New York. You may email him, or leave a comment below.
Child 44 Tom Rob Smith | | Reign of Fire |
Comments
I am sorry, but I was unable to read the review as I am distracted by the pretty in the photo.
Carry on.
Posted by: Melody at June 12, 2008 1:06 PM
He misses his fairy by one lousy minute,
Really really the best typo ever.
Posted by: twig at June 12, 2008 1:07 PM
According to the Penis Name Generator, my vagina is now called Little Juan. I'm ok with that.
Meh to this movie. I'd rather watch Definitely Maybe for the bajillionth time if I want to see The Pretty.
Posted by: Julie at June 12, 2008 1:13 PM
I also feel unjustified levels of sadness when certain celebrity couples break up, but it's usually reserved for the ones who have been married a while and look like they might actually buck the trend of Hollywood marriages. But it's really best to move on. So drink yourself to a Level III hangover, brush it off, and pick yourself back up. Because when it comes down to it, famous people are batshit insane and live in an entirely different universe than the rest of us. They will always be disappointing. I'll have to remind myself of this when Brad and Angelina eventually break up.
Posted by: katy at June 12, 2008 1:22 PM
twig- I knew that there was something not quite right when I read fairy, but I just kept reading. It wasn't until I read your comment that it hit me.
I agree that that is the best typo.
I guess that Dustin's man crush is stronger than he realizes, and even when it is officially on temporary hiatus, pops up subliminally.
Posted by: tamatha at June 12, 2008 1:24 PM
This review reminded me one of one of my old jobs that required me to go to a time-management class prior to starting. It was hosted by a company called Franklin Covey. They make personal calendars/appointment books that allow you to basically manage every moment of your life. After the long presentation on how to use such a thing (um, write appointment in the designated timeslot?), we were treated to a 5-minute montage film about the power of a second/minute/hour, i.e. views of the runner coming into second place, a baby being born...
It was like, are you fucking serious? You're trying to make me get emotional about a fucking appointment book?
Posted by: smash at June 12, 2008 1:42 PM
I don't call my naughty bits anything, but I've decided to call darling husband's "Sammy Davis Jr. Jr. Jr." because it's blind in one eye and drools like a dog.
Posted by: BWeaves at June 12, 2008 1:46 PM
Hey hey HEY! Don't go undermining our pretentious ways! I mean, really, after everything is said and done, it's all we got.
Posted by: boo at June 12, 2008 1:47 PM
The many names I have/will given/give to my pork sword:
1. Mjolnir
2. Chaos Theory (a penis flaps its wrinkles in Taiwan and you get a shower in your bedroom).
3. Raspenis, The Mad Junk
4. Colonel Stuftinya
Posted by: Manny at June 12, 2008 1:49 PM
smash, that's effing hilarious. I admit to loving my FC planner so much that I take it to 95% of the places I go (it's not really appropriate for weddings, concerts, or funerals).
I'm actually boycotting The Pretty because of Alanis. ScarHo has big noobers and pouty lips. She speaks in a monotone. Alanis will fuck you up with one hand behind her back, and then sing while she stomps on your head.
Posted by: Nicole at June 12, 2008 1:50 PM
According to that generator my hot box is named Phantom Lord of Ultimate Darkness. That's fairly accurate.
Posted by: jM at June 12, 2008 1:52 PM
Sweet; my penis/vagina name is Godzilla.
But for the purposes of playing along, I would like to officially call it Godtopussyzilla.
It's a mouthful. Just like mine. Heh. I just said I have a big pussy.
Posted by: boo at June 12, 2008 1:52 PM
Ahem, Mr. Rowles. I consider Reynolds' sweaty flexing abs to be the ONLY expression he will ever need. Good day.
Posted by: jM at June 12, 2008 1:56 PM
How big boo? Throwing a banana down a hallway big, or can it actually engulf small animals? :p
Ew.
Posted by: Julie at June 12, 2008 1:56 PM
Nice title. How very ironic.
Posted by: Alabamapink at June 12, 2008 2:01 PM
"How big boo? Throwing a banana down a hallway big, or can it actually engulf small animals?" Julie
OMG, I just got a visual of Sugar Bush Squirrel being Squirrel-a-pulted down the Godtopussyzilla.
Must bleach brain now.
Posted by: Bweaves at June 12, 2008 2:08 PM
Hey Boo, In saying you have a big pussy are you saying you own one or you have someone with one. I'm just asking. Why I'm asking, I don't know. This web site is starting to change me.
Oh and my vag is now officially called "El Presidente"
Posted by: Phat girl at June 12, 2008 2:09 PM
OMG, I just got a visual of Sugar Bush Squirrel being Squirrel-a-pulted down the Godtopussyzilla.
HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!
Posted by: Julie at June 12, 2008 2:10 PM
HAAA! Oh my dear sweet pussy. How badly I have treated you...
Julie, that shit is just wrong. :) I love.
Posted by: boo at June 12, 2008 2:10 PM
Phat girl, I am, indeed, the owner of a pussy, but I wouldn't consider it larger than the average pussy. And yes, I have seen a few. :)
But when I let my bush grow out, it does pad out the bikini bottom...
Heee! I must really stop, but it is so engorging...uh, I meant, engrossing. Err, well, in the famous words of Shadows, "YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!!!"
Posted by: boo at June 12, 2008 2:13 PM
Wow...Just,wow.
Posted by: Manny at June 12, 2008 2:19 PM
Oh my god Boo. :laughs ass off:
Posted by: Julie at June 12, 2008 2:20 PM
I only had to read that White review snippet three times to understand it! Pajiba is making me more smarterer.
Posted by: Lindzee at June 12, 2008 2:23 PM
Armond White is the shittiest movie critic in the business; not only does he choose weird movies to jack off to, but he aggressively attacks other critics for their likes and dislikes and is generally just the most pretentious asshole in any room he's in - and worse, he's a pretentious asshole who wholly hasn't earned the right to be pretentious by being good at what he does.
Because he's really fucking bad at it.
Posted by: mightygodking at June 12, 2008 2:28 PM
I don't get all the love for Ryan Reynolds. OK, he's pretty. But so is ScarJo. What's the difference? Why all the love for him and the hate for her? I mean, he can be funny, but he's in DREADFUL movies (I suspect that Chaos Theory is actually much below average but appears less so to Mr. Rowles because of admitted mancrush).
BTW Dustin, nursing a mancrush on Ryan Reynolds while listening to hours of Alanis? You might need to give your penis to a friend for safekeeping.
-- Fat Albert
Posted by: jimbob at June 12, 2008 2:29 PM
Free Willy? My hoo-ha is named Free Willy? That is so lame. Makes it sound like I have to do more Kegels. Stupid stuff-name-generator. *grrr*
Ahh, who am I kidding, it's not like anything it came up with could have topped Godtopussyzilla. boo, you are awesome!
Posted by: MO at June 12, 2008 2:33 PM
I have a British friend who can't see the movie Free Willy, because the title alone sends her into fits of giggles. She also went to Vietnam and didn't buy a single thing because the monetary unit was the "dong." Punchline, she's a doctor.
Posted by: BWeaves at June 12, 2008 2:37 PM
Bweaves, I hope to hell she's not a urologist...
Posted by: MO at June 12, 2008 2:39 PM
Beefy McManstick has a nice ring to it...
Posted by: Becky Tri-Tip Goddess at June 12, 2008 2:43 PM
According to the Penis Name Generator, my vagina is now called Little Juan. I'm ok with that.
Do I even need to comment on this?
Posted by: Shadows of Dakaron at June 12, 2008 3:00 PM
boos comments made me think of brendas mother on six feet under and glasses of water, i'm glad i'm not drinking right now
my penis is called ivan the terrible
i am not okay with that
Posted by: Maureen Tuckers Drumstick at June 12, 2008 3:00 PM
Do I even need to comment on this?
Ha! I knew you'd like that.
Posted by: Julie at June 12, 2008 3:03 PM
My generated poon name is The Big Lebowski. Hee! My vadge does abide...
Posted by: Dangle McGee at June 12, 2008 3:06 PM
Saw it as I'm a sucker for The Pretty all "flash-forwardy" ten years into the future with his salt-and-pepper.
Oh, and mine is the Pink Bananaclip.
Posted by: p-touch at June 12, 2008 3:06 PM
Ok, NOW I just did the lady parts generator, and my vag's name? Is The Cock Pit.
That is just so glorious I may cry.
Posted by: Julie at June 12, 2008 3:16 PM
Julie: It's so...sleek. So simple.
So you.
Julie, aka Cock Pit. Cha-CHING!
Posted by: boo at June 12, 2008 3:21 PM
Maureen Tuckers Drumstick, you kind of have a ready-made name for yours, do you not? (er, assuming you're banging a member of the Velvet Underground, that is)
Posted by: MO at June 12, 2008 3:26 PM
My imaginary penis' name is: Poka-her-hontas. I'll take it.
And my "girls parts'" name (I detect some sexism on the part of the blog runner): Clamburger. I might win for grossest so far.
Posted by: Geetch at June 12, 2008 3:31 PM
That's it. This generator just ain't cutting it. From here on in, my vag is officially named "ZOD".
"Kneel before ZOD!"
Posted by: jM at June 12, 2008 3:32 PM
Ha! jM for the win!
Posted by: Julie at June 12, 2008 3:33 PM
That's it. This generator just ain't cutting it. From here on in, my vag is officially named "ZOD".
"Kneel before ZOD!"
Okay, that's just awesomeness incarnate. I want to name my lady's parts that now. We'd reenact Superman II for hours. It'd be sweetly magical geeky love...
Posted by: Shadows of Dakaron at June 12, 2008 3:37 PM
man! I always miss the BEST stuff when I actually have meetings to go to at work!!
my penis/vag name is the Pumping Pole of Penile Power, and while it does tend to take the female anatomy out of the exquation, I do like alliteration, so....there you have it!
Veritable Vacuum of Vag Viciousness?
Posted by: Bethy at June 12, 2008 3:43 PM
i can't stop laughing. this mini diversion is NSFW.
my vag's name is apparently bavarian beefstick. the name makes me think of a bavarian cream donut, which, um, seems more appropriate i guess...
Posted by: eat my shorts at June 12, 2008 3:43 PM
Henceforth I shall be known by my penis name: Russel the One-Eyed Wonder Muscle
If you keep clicking with the same entry, though, you get different outcomes.
Posted by: HedonismBot at June 12, 2008 3:46 PM
Veritable Vacuum of Vag Viciousness
Ooh, Bethy, you just described the protagonist from Teeth!
Posted by: Julie at June 12, 2008 3:47 PM
HA!
my "girl parts" name is...what for it....
BAP (Bad Ass Pussy)!
I loveit!
this name will be implemented immediatly
I will have to notify the Boy
Posted by: B(AP)ethy at June 12, 2008 3:48 PM
I keep meaning to see that Julie, it actually looks really good
does that make me strange?
nah....
Posted by: Bethy at June 12, 2008 3:51 PM
The private parts over here are "Captain Kirk"
LOL, if only I was a guy....I could effectively say "beam me up Scottie"
Posted by: Jax at June 12, 2008 3:56 PM
I watched it, but I AM strange. I found it entertaining enough, but a little...bi-polar. There's a scene featuring a gyno that will have you super-gluing your thighs shut.
Posted by: Julie at June 12, 2008 3:56 PM
"Kneel before ZOD!"
Hee! I have a Houston Texans jersey with ZOD on the back. My work husband gave it to me as a birthday present because we always call it "This Football Team Hoo-ston" (he runs the pool) and I have some bizarre allegiance to the team.
Posted by: Nicole at June 12, 2008 3:56 PM
Out of some sick sense of curiosity and camaraderie...I decided to venture into the Penis Naming territory. Hesitantly, looking behind me and underneath me for office spies, I called up the site quickly and entered my name...slightly embarrassed but committed now. And what flashed onscreen was...
Light Saber.
And I realized I'm cool with that. Doesn't have the impact of Big Juan like I was originally intending (see Julie's comment above) but still has a nice ring to it and serves to impress the ladies...
"You don't know the *power* of the Dark Side, I must obey my master. "
Posted by: Shadows of Dakaron at June 12, 2008 3:58 PM
Oh, and I think I mentioned this somewhere else, but my vag is referred to as The Wonder Cave. My cousin insisted she couldn't be the only one.
(*My gyno nurse actually made a note of this in my chart. Daisy rocks.)
Posted by: Nicole at June 12, 2008 3:58 PM
There's a scene featuring a gyno that will have you super-gluing your thighs shut.
consider me fore-warned
altough I do have a feeling the Boy will be fleeing the living room in terror.....for many many things if I remeber the synopsis correctly
Posted by: Bethy at June 12, 2008 4:02 PM
That nurse is awesome Nicole...I'm heading to the doctor on Monday, should I tell him that he should now only address me as Cock Pit?
...probably not a good idea.
Oh, the force is with you, Shadows.
Posted by: Julie at June 12, 2008 4:06 PM
Girl Parts generated "Fandango." Though I knew it had something to do with dancing, I went to the google to verify my hypothesis:
a provocative Spanish courtship dance in triple time; performed by a man and a woman playing castanets
Mmmmmmmmm.....castanets!
Posted by: elizabeth at June 12, 2008 4:35 PM
Hee, Phat girl, my imaginary cock was also El Presidente. We're totally cock twins! Okay, that is an extremely creepy statement. I'm sorry.
However, they're apparently calling my vag The Boneyard? No thanks, blanco nino. Until something better comes along, it will remain nameless.
Posted by: kalexal at June 12, 2008 5:09 PM
However, they're apparently calling my vag The Boneyard?
Better than The Frathouse...
Posted by: Shadows of Dakaron at June 12, 2008 5:16 PM
Listen, Maureen Tuckers Drumstick, I was fully prepared to forgo the penis-name-generator meme until I read of Ivan the Terrible. Which is, I'm sorry, the greatest name ever. You should be proud.
Mine, incidentally, is One Eyed Wonder Weasel.
Posted by: dsbs at June 12, 2008 5:30 PM
dsbs-I feel a little cheated as my name was: Russell The One-Eyed Wonder Muscle
Posted by: anikitty at June 12, 2008 5:47 PM
The Bald Avenger.
Posted by: lunabelle at June 12, 2008 7:10 PM
Had to share my hot pockets new name... Beefy McManstick. I'm not sure how I feel about that.
Beefy vagina sounds nasty, truly nasty.
Posted by: Virenda at June 12, 2008 7:33 PM
My manstick's name is Curious George. Whoever picked that name clearly doesn't know me very well.
/gets no action
Posted by: Pen Dragon at June 12, 2008 8:21 PM
You feel cheated... mine was "Leaning Tower of Pisa." What the fuck? My shit don't lean!!!
or does it...
Posted by: Todd at June 12, 2008 8:57 PM
I suppose, but at the same time it sort of seems like a place where penises go to die, and that's just gross.
Posted by: kalexal at June 12, 2008 9:17 PM
Hmmm. My business is named Pee Wee Herman, apparently. Odd, seeing as how I don't have a pee-wee.
Isn't it ironic?
Yes, I went there. Of course, the chorus is now screaming in my head.
Posted by: Jaci. at June 12, 2008 11:37 PM
Oh, btw, here's an actual vag name generator, so us ladies don't have to be naming our business after boy parts. Frankly, Pee Wee Herman just don't feel right (in more than one way).
Posted by: Jaci at June 12, 2008 11:41 PM
AlabamaPink -- I was thinking the same thing! Except the only thing that makes me more upset than the fact that Ryan Reynolds is marrying Scarlett fucking Johansson (sp?) is that Alanis, much as I love her, obviously has no idea what ironic really means. *Sigh*
On a side note, I will henceforth be known as "Catherine the Incredible Pole Rider." My husband will be happy.
Posted by: Ariel at June 13, 2008 7:59 AM
Nice, my temporary vadge will henceforth be known as Jennifer the Incredible Pole Rider. It's good to be incredible for something I guess.
Seeing as I'm a guy, however, I'll just stick with the given moniker Meat 'n' Potatoes....
Ahhhh name generators... you do know me so well!
Posted by: JR at June 13, 2008 9:05 AM
My vajayjay is called:
(*drum roll*)
Barbera the Insatiable Inverted Volcano
Blimey.
(Also, it's apparently a very poor speller. I have an uneducated vadge. Figures...)
Posted by: Tarn at June 13, 2008 9:30 AM
I didn't use the web app b/c I have had the same name for my junk for years, "The Disappointer" (cue surprised squirrel music). Damn those truth in advertising laws!
Posted by: Stevo at June 13, 2008 10:14 AM
I can't type enough sad emoticon faces.
"Jennifer the Spotted Space Prod Eater ".
Do they have spots, or do I? And shouldn't both of us get checked out for that? And Jennifer? Really? I always called her the girl downstairs. All these years later, I finally learn her horrible name.
Posted by: divinityblue at June 13, 2008 3:42 PM
BAHA my fiery biscuit's name is The Bald Avenger.
YESSSS!
Posted by: justamanda at June 13, 2008 3:53 PM
....wow.
Although my crush on him is suspended due to my Alanis-love, (She's -God-, for fuck's sake.)I admit to spending a good five minutes staring at the shirtless magazine cover he did in like.. Celebrity Abs Weekly or something. ...only five minutes or so, though.
..every time I go in .
And if I had a penis, it would be named Captain James Fitzhew.
I don't know why. If I had to name my vadge, I'd probably pick something odd like Steve. Still beats "truth".
Posted by: Mara at June 15, 2008 12:24 PM
