Lost in all the parsed, leading man analysis of the recent trend of schlubby, “beta-male” comedies, largely pioneered under the purview of multi-hyphenate filmmaker Judd Apatow, is the fact that movies like The 40-Year-Old Virgin, Knocked Up and Superbad — which was at its core about high school male separation anxiety — have all been willing to heartily embrace, and indeed exploit, the theatrical emotionality of their characters’ fears and pain. It’s that same sense of stringently self-effacing humor that’s at the heart of the success of Forgetting Sarah Marshall, a ribald comedy about a regular guy caught up in the spin cycle of a relationship flame-out with a much more famous gal.



Directed by Apatow protégé Nicholas Stoller (a writer on Undeclared), Forgetting Sarah Marshall centers on composer Peter Bretter (Jason Segel, also the movie’s screenwriter), who’s labored outside of the limelight of his namesake, longtime girlfriend, an up-and-coming television star (Kristen Bell, above left). He’s the awkwardly lingering, purse-holding guy barked at by paparazzi to get out of the photo… until, that is, Sarah does the unthinkable, and breaks up with him.

Emotionally devastated, Peter tries to lose himself in a couple meaningless flings, but finds no solace there, so, against the advice of friend and stepbrother Brian (Bill Hader), he takes a trek to Hawaii. There, he runs into Sarah, who’s vacationing with new beau, Aldous Snow (Russell Brand, above right), a libidinous, unapologetically self-centered enviro-rocker who comes off a bit like the lost Gallagher triplet. Peter also meets Rachel (Mila Kunis, of That ’70s Show), the very pleasant and very cute hotel concierge, and thus the opportunity for all sorts of serial awkwardness is born.

There’s an interesting undercurrent of abandonment and male depression at being subjugated to his mate in matters of career that comes surging to the forefront in one scene late in the movie, where Sarah and Peter rehash their relationship and she (almost tearfully) asserts how hard she tried to punch through his hermetic veneer, with everything from self-help books to sex seminars. Nothing else much in the film touches upon this provocative meme like this tantalizing scene — a real shot to the solar plexus — but in the end it doesn’t much matter. Even if it often seems comprised of conveniently strung-together set pieces rather than a free-flowing story of open possibility, Forgetting Sarah Marshall is well cast, powered by affable performances and consistently funny. For the full review, from FilmStew, click here. (Universal, R, 111 minutes)