Click

Michael Newman is a talented architect for a high-powered firm. He wants to be partner. Michael Newman is also a father and husband. He wants to be a partner there, too. But he’s stretched too thin, and can’t fully satisfy his ridiculous boss while paying attention to his family, too.

One evening, while dead tired, he goes in search of a universal remote control in order to help him simplify his life. The only store that’s open (it’s that kind of comedy) is Bed, Bath and Beyond. Newman goes on in, thinking a Bed-and-Bath store might find what he’s looking for (did I mention that it’s that kind of comedy?).

In the Way Beyond department, he meets a supernaturally odd technician named Morty (delightfully and refreshingly played by Christopher Walken, who seems to be channeling the spirit of Johnny Depp, and also seems to be the only performer really enjoying himself). Morty gives Newman a remote control that allows him to fast forward, pause, mute, and access the Special Features of his life. This literal Deus Ex Machina provides all that a highly credulous audience needs to accept the fashion in which the movie allows the audience (and Newman—get it?) to learn just how much this poor soul is a slave to ambition, technology, and the daily grind.

Ultimately, Click plays much like a cross between A Christmas Carol, It’s A Wonderful Life, and Bruce Almighty (with running gags about dry-humping dogs, tiny penises, Hobbits in Speedo suits, fat people, and bratty neighbor boys thrown in).

And there, buried underneath the Adam Sandler formula, the Man-Learns-A-Lesson-About-Life formula also struggles for credibility. The struggle is worthy, if not terribly convincing. Newman does learn that his family’s opinion is more important than his boss’s. He does learn that time is fleeting, and it’s better to enjoy what you’ve got before it all passes you by. He does learn that the mistakes you make with your children can have devastating downstream effects.

But A Christmas Carol—in all its permutations—demonstrated how personal redemption can also enrich those in the broader community. It’s A Wonderful Life (in addition to the obvious empathetic strength of Jimmy Stewart’s personal character) sold us on the sobering darkness of life without Goodness. And Bruce Almighty (like its cinematic predecessors) deigned to take its central conceit seriously, and offered at least one convincing scene portraying the emotional plight of the hero. Click, on the other hand, seems like nothing more than an over-extended gag-reel metaphor for family-man Sandler’s struggle to pay proper attention to both Home and Work. Click also seems to demonstrate that Adam Sandler the Producer has yet to strike the right balance.

If only Click didn’t end up seeming so self-centered. If only its pandering to Family Values wasn’t so perversely twisted. If only Sandler’s humor didn’t sell itself so short. If only the talents of Henry Winkler, Julie Kavner, Sean Astin, and James Earl Jones weren’t so pathetically wasted.

If only Michael Newman could learn that loving one’s family is nothing more than an obvious starting point—that loving one’s neighbor is a pretty key ingredient in the whole equation, too. I didn't see much of that in Click.