Review - A Thousand Words

Grade: C-

Yin: Standard Murphy vehicle with by-the-numbers theatrics and jokes with no punch or resonance. Talent, like Kerry Washington, are grossly misused, portraying cut-outs rather than characters.

Yang: Not as bad as the latest Murphy vehicles; Some occasionally touching moments near the end and a earnest performance by Ruby Dee bring a bit of dignity to the proceedings.

In-Between: Eddie Murphy. Quiet for half a movie. That should work.

So, somebody finally decided to pay Eddie Murphy to shut up.

In his latest, A Thousand Words, Murphy plays Jack McCall, a motormouthed jackass of a literary agent who apparently is unfamiliar with Kindle, iPad, and the entire e-Book revolution. A classic Hollywood workaholic, Jack has no time for his wife (Kerry Washington, in the thankless “hot, disapproving wife” role normally reserved for TV actresses between the ages of 30-40...oops) and new son, which is patently aggravating because paying for a house in what looks like Hollywood Hills should only require a paycheck from a 9-5. At work, Jack, the rare literary agent who doesn’t read, has found the next big thing in self-help/meditation/actualization guru Sinja (Cliff Curtis, playing Indian despite his Maori heritage), who believes, unironically, in the revolutionary idea that quiet leads to inner peace and self-discovery.

After conning his way into Sinja’s retreat, Jack makes a promise to promote an unseen tome by Sinja according to Sinja’s philosphy before cutting himself on a tree within moments of Sinja waxing poetic on the majesty of trees. Coincidence? The next day the tree magically appears in Jack’s backyard and begins shedding leaves with every word Jack speaks. The closer the tree comes to losing all its leaves; the closer Jack comes to dying. With only a thousand leaves left, Jack must figure out how to live without being mouth almighty, tongue everlasting or die after his thousandth word.

Murphy is slightly less grating in A Thousand Words than he has been in his latest cinematic ventures, especially since he has to rely on something other than his trademark whiplash-inducing smart-assery for more than half the flick. In the latter half of the flick, he makes a noble yet desperate attempt at that Oscar that eluded him a few years ago, failing to realize this is a Eddie Murphy vehicle. Clark Duke is mildly amusing as Jack’s assistant, bringing some of the sly, self-deprecating barbs that highlighted his performance in Hot Tub Time Machine. Ruby Dee also brings a touch of dignity to the proceedings as Jack’s aging mother, who is suffering from a crippling case of Alzheimer’s. Despite Dee, Duke and Murphy’s efforts, the rest of the cast fails to track as anything more than cut-outs, which is particularly disappointing in Washington’s case.

Director Brian Robins does little to help A Thousand Words become more than a trite platform for Murphy’s theatrics. Rarely do any of the jokes land with anything resembling resonance. Somewhere near the end of the film, Robbins and crew drop any pretensions of making audiences laugh and, taking a page out of the Tyler-Perry-bait-with-comedy-and-switch-to-drama book, turn A Thousand Words into a heavy-handed psuedo-drama. But, Robbins greatest sin is in making A Thousand Words so generally light and unaffecting. Clearly, this flick was meant to be both moving and funny, but it barely manages to successfully demonstrate either quality. All things considered, this isn’t Norbit, but it’s nothing remotely spectacular or affecting. But considering how far Murphy’s fallen since the days of Trading Spaces and Coming to America, it’s better than the average, and, in less than a thousand words, that’s not saying much.