Does optimism have a place in comedy anymore? Albert Brooks thinks so, but he could be dead. Though strife is not a sure bet either. Somebody should have euthanized “Spanglish.” My tastes are firmly ensconced in the realm of cynicism.
Secretly, there is no trait I admire more in people than optimism. I rationalize my own lack thereof by calling these individuals “deluded” or “drunk on half-full glasses of 120- proof bullshit.” With all the Nietszche stuffed down my throat in class and other assorted dreariness that comes as a side order with life, I have come to believe there are three types of people: the soulless, the hopeless and the miserable. Corporate America puts this brand of human being on ostentatious display every tip-top day. Lately, I am all for films that are “elusive,” not quite escapist, not quite realistic. This is why “In Good Company” was for me like when you are out somewhere and something grazes your genitalia: an unexpected, transient pleasure borne out of everyday life. It gives us the maddening truism of corporate malaise and spices it up with a little breezy affirmation.
The skinny-necked snark from That 70’s Show, Topher Grace, hardly seems the man to graze us. He is hotshot young gun Carter Duryea, a one-man think tank for GlobeCom, who is doing marvelous work with cell phones for tots. The enigmatic man upstairs, the demigod of merger culture Tony K (McDowell of Droog fame), takes notice and puts Carter in charge of Ad sales at GlobeCom’s prize content outle—Sport America magazine. The man Carter replaces, Dan Foreman (Quaid), is a wily ad sales vet who plies his trade with old-fashioned, Glengarry Glen Ross-esque salesmanship. He is also twice Carter’s age. Sport America has apparently previously existed in an idealist vacuum in which all the employees believe in the strength of the magazine. Carter, without a lick of ad sales experience, immediately goes corporate on these heathens by lopping off human redundancies left and right and praising the gospel of synergy. Carter completes his collection of corporate shark accoutrements, the frigid wife, the ascetic Upper West Side apartment, et al. with a penis car.
We all know the insidious manner in which the corporate culture reaches its slimy tendrils into our daily lives. I worked at ABC as a fun-paid intern in their Integrated Marketing/Promotion department. This department’s function was to find ways to finesse the products of ABC corporate sponsors into the plotlines of television shows (how can we get Jim Belushi to do something hilllaaarriouss with Gold Bond?). Tubes were installed on the bottom of our swivel chairs to suck the soul right out of your asshole while we worked. From time to time, I wake up screaming with images of Gordon Gekko feeding on the entrails of orphans still stuck in my head. Film has had some legendary corporate nasties: the Devil in the form of Al Pacino advocating asset liquidation, the compensating dwarf in “Elf.” Teddy bear Topher could not possibly enter into this pantheon? Must I see his darling mug in my nightmares!
Things start to unravel for Carter. His wife leaves him; she does not want kids and he seems to be a lousy lay. He wrecks his penis car. All that remains is his work; he calls in the employees for a think day on Sunday. Loneliness leads Carter to invite himself over to Dan’s home whereby he can bask in the comfy glow of a functional family with a foxy, college age daughter (Johansson). Back at work, Dan begins to warm up to Carter’s misplaced good intentions and prodigious work ethic. Carter, unbeknownst to his new pal, begins shtupping his daughter in privates. The genesis of this is a positively ludicrous scene in which Johansson seduces Grace in her NYU dorm room. After having established chemistry by discussing daily caffeine intake, they decide to get down to anatomy. She turns down the halogen light, turns up the Belle & Sebastian and then proceeds to slowly unbutton the Oxford shirt that previously poked out of his sweater vest. These things do not happen. At least that is what lets me sleep at night.
Ad pages at Sport America decline as clients resent Carter’s business style. Tony K, our corporate devil, comes for an inspirational speech and ends up being a defanged, corporate-boilerplate spouting asshat. The romance fizzles, the company is sold, and Quaid gets his old job back. The value of fostering client loyalty is upheld, corporate culture gets a dose of family values, and in a bizarre ending Carter fulfills his dream of running on a beach.
The third act is slapdash, yes… and I never though I would say this but it could have taken a lesson or two from “Working Girl” (jilt Antonio Banderas and marry me Ms. Griffith!). Weitz is usually pitch perfect at the proper rhythm for scenes, but they lose their way at all the key dramatic moments. The screws needed to be tightened on “Company;” some throwaway lines were notoriously clunkers. The romance ends up totally inane; there are more sparks between father and daughter than the youngsters (Quaid, you old dog!). Johansson’s character is a desultory mishmash of tomboy, daddy’s girl, seductress, independent woman, and cynic. It is a crime against humanity to miscast Johansson, she of the bowling ball cheekbones and ever translatable girl-next-door allure. Quaid is a pleasantly gruff counterpart to Grace’s sly charm.
The Weitz brothers have a flair for endearing us to emotionally-stilted man boys. Who did not feel the tear ducts get a little irrigated at the end of “About a Boy?” No tears in “Company,” not really any laughs either, but you leave feeling up about the human condition. There was derisive laughter in the theater throughout the film, especially at the rather pat ending. I sympathize with this, but why not relish this vacation from alienation and corporate whoredom. Human decency and integrity wins out sometimes. Aww heck, rehire Willy Loman; he has still got a few tricks up his sleeve.
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