Don't believe the hype: this is a thin movie. George Clooney plays an everyman with a trust fund who, during the course of the film, reorients himself marginally on the moneymaking-family axis. That's it, folks. He has a pair of cute foul-mouthed daughters, a wife in a coma who has cheated on him, an extended family of laid-back cousins, and -- as the back-up child-rearer -- a terminal inability to recall his daughters' friends' names or remember when the pool cleaner will next arrive. In other words he's just like us except that he's gorgeous, has more money, is descended from island royalty, and lives on Oahu. If the film had been placed in Findlay, Ohio or cast with someone other than Clooney in the lead role, it would not have earned back its budget.
Clooney is cast so far against type that he isn't believable. In the opening scenes, as he struggles with his daughters' acting out and learns of his wife's infidelity, he sputters like a sitcom character, like Ozzie Nelson on a bad day. Later he learns to cry, but the tears spring from nowhere. Ultimately the director's resolution points us to memories and ice cream in front of the family TV. Satisfied? I'm afraid I wasn't. This film is nothing but a feel-good gesture to middle American values wrapped in Hawaiian shirts and accompanied by a soundtrack of native Hawaiian music.
Clooney is cast so far against type that he isn't believable. In the opening scenes, as he struggles with his daughters' acting out and learns of his wife's infidelity, he sputters like a sitcom character, like Ozzie Nelson on a bad day. Later he learns to cry, but the tears spring from nowhere. Ultimately the director's resolution points us to memories and ice cream in front of the family TV. Satisfied? I'm afraid I wasn't. This film is nothing but a feel-good gesture to middle American values wrapped in Hawaiian shirts and accompanied by a soundtrack of native Hawaiian music.