Why is it that movies can never get the rhythms, the prickly defensive and confessional dance, of a therapy session — at least, not the way The Sopranos did? In Shrink, this sick-soul-of-Los-Angeles drama, Kevin Spacey plays a psychiatrist to the stars, but the character is such a wretch — an addict who's gone numb over his wife's suicide — that he just sits there, slack and glum, without the pretense that he's helping anyone. The movie is slack too.
It wants to be Good Will Hunting set in the land of Entourage, but its bummed-out touchy-feeliness is every bit as concocted as its overly jaded showbiz corruption.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
4:37 PM
savcenko
