An Open Letter to ‘Collateral Beauty,’ the Best Bad Movie of 2016
Dear Collateral Beauty:
You didn’t seem real at first. The trailers reminded me of those fake spoof ones you see in Hollywood-skewering comedies: a ridiculous premise, overblown dramatics, a cast of recognizable A-list actors all taking it very seriously. And that title! It sounds like a movie mash-up crafted by a rogue IMDb bot.
But now that I’ve seen you, I can confirm that you are indeed a real movie that came out last weekend, starring actual, acclaimed actors, like Will Smith, Edward Norton, Kate Winslet. And I think we need to talk…
Maybe I’m crazy for writing to a movie. But then I think, what’s crazier, that, or the idea that a film with this flimsy of a premise — a grieving father writes letters to, and then receives visits from Love, Death and Time personified — actually got made?
And I realize that, much like Smith’s Howard, the tormented ad agency head still reeling from the tragic death of his 6-year-old daughter, the letter isn’t for you. It’s for me. As I try to process what in the name of Hitch I’ve just experienced.
See, Howard writes angry letters to abstract concepts, bikes head on into traffic, and builds elaborate domino structures at work. We’ve all got different ways of processing things. This is something I learned from you. I get that now.
But — actually, hold on, I’ve got a couple questions about that domino thing. Are you really asking us to believe that Smith’s character has come into the office and built a series of increasingly complex domino towers every day for the past two years? And it’s only now that his clients are starting to ask questions? Also, he doesn’t even stick around to watch the dominos topple? I understand willing suspension of disbelief, but come on now. That’s almost too much to take.
Sorry, I’m getting distracted… To get back to the point, this poor man is clearly still having trouble dealing with his daughter’s death. So, why wouldn’t his business partners – sorry, “friends” – encourage him to try therapy, or at the very least, take some time off? You know, instead of conspiring to hire three actors to play “Love, Death and Time” in the hopes of making Howard look mentally unstable enough to push him out of the company? (Refusing to attend meetings or talk to clients, and playing with dominos all day isn’t already enough?) Where’s HR in all of this?
I left the theatre not only questioning what I’d just watched, but my entire reality. Were you a real movie? Am I real? Is any of this? And what the hell is “collateral beauty” anyway?
From watching those trailers, I thought you were supposed to be a heartwarming Christmas fable. Not a movie about three backstabbing co-workers conspiring to push a mourning father out of the company he built. “This doesn’t feel right,” you even have Winslet’s character say at one point. She’s right. It doesn’t. Yet, you barrel ahead anyway, expecting to distract us with the charming collection of beloved actors you’ve assembled to do your narrative dirty work.
I’ve got to hand it to you: for a while, it actually works. These are some talented thespians you’ve assembled, capable of breathing life into even the most maudlin, faux-philsophical dialogue. Casting Dame Helen Mirren as a flighty, failed theatre actress? That’s inspired stuff. And, yes, I know this won’t be the death of any of their careers. I’m adult enough to know that a single movie, no matter how bad, won’t ruin an actor — I’ve seen After Earth.
Nor am I pretentious enough to moan about you being the death of cinema. You’re cloying, sure, and so bizarre at times as to almost be unbelievable, but I didn’t hate you. On the contrary, I kind of love you for it. Following along with those outrageous twists and turns has been the most fun I’ve had in a movie theatre in months.
So forget Death and Love. Let’s talk about Time. Like the hour and 38 minutes I put in watching you — time I could’ve been spending with my loved ones instead (OK, fine, more like catching up on Westworld). For a while there, I was getting worried that you weren’t going to be as head-scratchingly bad as other critics made you out to be. Sure, there was the expected tacky grief fetishizing. A few offensive generalizations: like that the only thing a successful career woman over 40 really wants is a child (or, failing that, for a 19-year-old stranger she’s only known for a couple days to tell her what a good mom she’ll be someday). But you also had some good moments. Michael Pena was charming, at least.
But, oh, how you managed to redeem yourself in those final minutes with a pair of ridiculous “twists.” A last-second reveal that everything you’ve told us up until now has been a lie. Or at least, intentionally misleading and manipulative. Surprise!
That’s not a twist, though. That’s gaslighting your audience. Just like Mirren and co. are doing to poor Howard. Because I left the theatre not only questioning what I’d just watched, but my entire reality. Were you a real movie? Am I real? Is any of this? And what the hell is “collateral beauty” anyway?
I’m still looking for those answers. But I am sure of one thing: you are hands down the best bad movie of the year. And you have to be seen to be believed.
