Romantic comedies have such a lousy
batting average—somewhere between movie spoofs and torture
porn—that even when a half-decent one like Definitely, Maybe comes along, it's distinguished
more by what it doesn't do than what it does. To that end, Definitely, Maybe doesn't rely on amnesia, magic
(black or practical), the supernatural, cutesy-poo serendipity, or any other
such high-concept gimmickry to get the job done. It also doesn't feature any
gay-best-friend types, doesn't turn into a stand-up-comedy routine for the male
lead, and doesn't clear the way to romance by making other potential partners
seem treacherous or repugnant. In spite of a shortage of wit and only a mild
intelligence at its core, the film at least seems intended for adults, treating
matters of the heart with the thorniness inherent in fundamentally decent
people trying to figure out whether they're compatible. Put simply, the film
excels most at not being awful.
Continuing to molt away the many
layers of smugness that dogged his Van Wilder years, Ryan Reynolds plays a
soon-to-be-divorced political consultant with easygoing confidence and
charisma. Then again, how could he not be easygoing, given the Sophie's choice
of available women laid out before him? The too-cute framing device has his
daughter (Little Miss Sunshine's Abigail Breslin) asking him to comb through his romantic
past to figure out what went wrong and why he's unhappy. Changing the names to
keep her from knowing which one is her mother, Reynolds reminisces about three
past loves: Elizabeth Banks, his devoted college sweetheart from Wisconsin;
Isla Fisher, the hippie-dippie apolitical copy girl he met while working on
Bill Clinton's presidential campaign; or Rachel Weisz, a gifted young
journalist whose affections present a conflict of interest.
It's perhaps fitting that these
three vibrant beauties intersect while Reynolds works on the Clinton campaign,
because Definitely, Maybe has a Clinton-esque sense of bruised idealism and compromise.
Though he blanches at his client's waffling over the definition of "is," he
makes an imperfect hero, given to scotching up relationships through betrayals,
minor and major, that somehow don't make him any less likeable. But whenever
Adam Brooks' script sags into cliché, it's usually the women who rescue it,
especially Fisher, whose sexy, go-for-broke effervescence carries over nicely
from her scene-stealing roles in Wedding Crashers and The Lookout. Perhaps she—and
we—deserve better than Reynolds and Definitely, Maybe, but they'll do in a pinch.