the unbearable weight of massive talent

Nicolas Cage represents different things for different people.  Utter his name and gauge someone’s reaction. What sense memory does it trigger for them? Con Air, with his glorious, flowing locks and the indelible line, “put the bunny back in the box?” Face/Off, wherein he extols the virtues of slowly eating a peach for hours? In other words, ‘1990s action movie Nicolas Cage.’ (Fair warning: the words ‘Nicolas Cage’ are going to be repeated in this review a lot. Like,  a lot.) Or maybe they think of ‘serious actor’ Nicolas Cage, who won an Oscar for his portrayal of a failed screenwriter drinking himself to death in Leaving Las Vegas. Or, particularly for younger viewers, the name might be synonymous with his late-phase output of films that are churned out so quickly, Bruce Willis would be proud—some instant cult classics (Mandy), some modestly entertaining (Willy’s Wonderland), some instant turds (Left Behind), and some that will quietly chew up your soul and spit it out (Pig). The point is, he’s made a lot of movies and depending on your age and sensibilities, Nicolas Cage may mean different things to you than he does to other people. (For me, his name always conjures this ridiculously over-the-top line reading of the word ‘wang’ in Peggy Sue Got Married.) Tom Gormican’s The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent therefore takes on the gargantuan task of paying tribute to this human paradox and his self-described “nouveau shamanic” acting style.  A more apt title would’ve been The Unbearable Weight of a Massive Letdown.

Nicolas Cage plays a fictionalized version of himself, reeling from a recent disappointment over not getting ‘the role of a lifetime.’ His ex-wife Olivia (Sharon Horgan, deploying the same unique dry British sarcasm that was such an indispensable component of Catastrophe) and his daughter Addy (Lily Sheen, fine but underused) are fed up with his escalating narcissism. Olivia gives him an ultimatum—he needs to get his shit together, or else. And so when his agent approaches him with an insulting but lucrative offer to be the guest of honor at a billionaire’s birthday party, he has no other choice but to accept. The billionaire in question is Javi Gutierrez, played with disarming tenderness by Pedro Pascal.  Of course, nothing is quite as it seems, and Cage soon finds himself wrapped up in a plot involving the CIA, gun cartels, and action-y exploits that harken back to his 1990s heyday.

The first half of the movie is arguably its best, before the plot really crystallizes.  The first act in particular is a hoot, as it literally opens on the iconic “How Do I Live” ending scene from Con Air and immediately dives into a series of meta call-backs to his acting career. Barely a minute into the film, and the lead has already displayed one of his signature Cage Rage freak-outs.  There are also some low-key delights to be had in watching Cage play a (presumably fictionalized) narcissistic, insecure version of himself.  Cage clearly had fun mocking himself, and it shows here. (What a relief—it’s always a drag when you sense a star unwilling to be vulnerable on screen and dragging the whole production down with him. See: Adam Sandler in Funny People.) Just when the movie begins to drag, Pedro Pascal mercifully arrives. He plays his character with such earnestness that you can’t help but root for him. Despite being a billionaire with ties to a criminal organization, he’s reduced to a starstruck fan in Cage’s presence, all stammers and sheepish glances. The scenes between the two of them are genuinely affecting, and watching them debate the merits of films such as The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari and Paddington 2 is a delight. Unfortunately, once the film’s action switches to Majorca and the plot kicks into gear, the movie drags again, and this time, there’s no one to rescue it. 

It’s a shame because up until this point, the film does a decent job convincing you that it will live up to its promise.  It comes off as a breezier, less cynical cousin to Adaptation, that other, heavily meta Nicolas Cage film. However, it quickly becomes clear that this film is not as clever as it thinks it is, and lacks the inspiration to truly engage its subject in a creative way.  At one point, we see Javi’s Nic Cage shrine, full of props from his earlier movies—the chemical weapon from The Rock (“ a really elegant string-of-pearls configuration”), a statue of his Face/Off character holding golden guns, a Nicolas Cage reversible sequin pillow (it’s glorious—go buy it now, even though it’s via Jeff Bezos, yuck).  But it’s a dramatically inert sequence that’s emblematic of the movie’s overall flaws.  When it comes down to it, you’re literally just watching Nicolas Cage walk through a Nicolas Cage museum. That’s it.  It’s about as viscerally exciting as an episode of Fox’s Domino Masters (which is to say, not very. Watching people assemble dominoes on television is interminably dull. Don’t @ me.)

When the movie first begins, it feels as if you’re watching a Nicolas Cage movie written by Nicolas Cage fans for Nicolas Cage fans (I told you his name would be repeated a lot in this review). But it just doesn’t do anything memorable or creative with its central character.  I found myself longing for the intellectual rigor of Adaptation or the zany fun of Being John Malkovich (different star, obviously, but with a more successful meta approach).  Midway through the second act, the film’s limitations become obvious.  The self-referential pleasures in the first act are almost completely jettisoned, and in a completely mystifying creative decision, the bromance elements between Cage and Pascal are also almost entirely discarded. By the end of the film, his character is reduced to a “Hi, I’m still here” cameo and the filmmakers cynically, belatedly shove the father-daughter dynamic down the audience’s throats. It’s a disingenuous and disappointing, but not surprising, end.

As your mind wanders during the second half, you may find yourself wondering how the filmmakers could’ve rescued this film.  There are certainly hints and feints at a better movie—there’s a recurring theme of imposed and imagined narratives that could and should have been fleshed out. At one point, Cage and Pascal go on an LSD-fueled romp through Majorca, fleeing from imagined pursuers. Narratively speaking, it’s predictable and inert, but it does hint at themes that are begging to be explored.  Beyond the underdeveloped themes, the action on display is rather anemic and lacks any sense of urgency, which is surprising given how many shootouts and car chases populate the third act. The action sequences here just aren’t well-shot, with too many close-ups and even more of the blandly sun-dappled cinematography that permeates much of the film. The filmmakers needed to either spend more of their budget on the action sequences or, preferably, jettison them entirely in favor of a more character-driven dramedy.  (Ironically, at one point, Cage and Pascal bemoan the popularity of ‘talkie’ comedies, agreeing that a film needs plot to drive it forward. The filmmakers should’ve disregarded the main characters’ advice.) Or perhaps this should’ve been a short film, a day in the life of “Nicolas Cage.” That would’ve spared viewers the bloated excess of this film that feels much longer than it actually is.

In any case, this film simply fails to pay proper tribute to the man, the myth, the legend that is Nicolas Cage.  There are pleasures to be found here, as Cage willingly pokes fun at himself and blurs the line between fiction and reality. But these moments are disappointingly fleeting. Your time would be better spent screening selected highlights from Cage’s oeuvre. Perhaps spend a lazy Sunday by the fire, watching Raising Arizona, Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance, and Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans. You’ll feel emotionally drained afterward, but then, would Nic Cage have it any other way?