It took me fewer than 100 seconds to be annoyed with this film. Corporate desk-jockey Greg (Owen Wilson) is summoned to a meeting with his boss and … he just doesn’t go. Instead, he doodles and tries to refill a prescription. There are hundreds of good reasons for ignoring a summons from the boss. These two aren’t among them. I wanted to see his ass fired on the spot.
And this is our hero. Bite my lip and shake my head; I might be in for a long one.
Oh, and then he kills his boss. Inadvertently. He clearly didn’t mean to, but writer/director Mike Cahill seemed to give Owen the instruction, “act like you’re in a different film.” And Owen took it to heart, springing to life for no reason and accidently knocking boss backwards, skull first, into granite. It looks bad as Greg has just been fired, so he does what anyone would do … he hangs his dead boss by a window, draws the curtain and skips for the bar across the street. Yeah, anybody would do that, right?
At the bar, the sci-fi portion of the film arrives when Greg is confronted by Isabel (Salma Hayek), the only other “real” person in the bar –not explained- who is current-ly getting her jollies screwing with the current. Greg and Isabel “haven’t met,” but they seem to know a lot about each other – especially as Isabel is the woman in Greg’s doodles –explained, but unconvincingly- apparently, there is some sort of Matrix thing going on in which Greg and Isabel are scientists living in an alternate reality –not explained- and have to get back to that reality –not explained- for reasons that aren’t really explained, either.
Look, I’ll save you some trouble and I don’t think this is a genuine spoiler because
the metaphors are obvious, the acting is terrible, and the scenes don’t make any sense: Greg and Isabel and junkies. Whatever you see on screen is their reality while either sober or under the influence. Here’s the thing, I don’t like Greg. I don’t like Isabel. I don’t like their fake world; I don’t like their real world. I don’t care which is which.
Confusing, humorless, and boring, the ironically titled “Bliss” imagines a universe in which we might appreciate the fantasy of drug addiction, but somehow couldn’t summon a screenplay where I might appreciate anything at all. Never before in my life have I uttered the words “__________ is wrong for sci-fi” and yet I found myself claiming this over-and-over about both leads. I’m not sure if they got the instruction to act like they were in another film, but I can’t imagine the film where this acting works. Honestly? You’d think Owen would be more natural for this role given his personal history of depression, but it doesn’t work. I’ve liked him before in several films. On the flip side, I don’t know how many more roles are needed for a bossy Hispanic former sex symbol with an accent so thick it screws with dialogue, but between Salma and Sofía Vergara, I’m honestly good if this particular trope dies a quick death.
For a film with the title of “Bliss”
It’s as enjoyable as an adult bris
When it can be understood
Not much here is good
Trust me and give it a miss
Rated R, 103 Minutes
Director: Mike Cahill
Writer: Mike Cahill
Genre: What you get when you want to make Requiem for a Dream with inferior tools
Type of being most likely to enjoy this film: I honestly do not know
Type of being least likely to enjoy this film: People who don’t even like Owen Wilson in Salma Hayek when they’re in good films
