Review: The Bucket List

* 1/2

Jack Nicholson, Morgan Freeman, Sean Hayes. Directed by Rob Reiner. Written by Justin Zackham. Rated PG-13. 98 minutes. Warner Brothers.

I’m a pushover for a good cry at the movies, and likely more than I should be in this line of work. This season, the final sequence of Atonement floored me. Ditto the father and son phone call in The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. And Hal Holbrook’s request near the end of Into the Wild was an extraordinary moment. Each of those scenes earned their due by skillfully avoiding any sentimental goosing, letting the actors and original storytelling do the heavy lifting.

That said, the embarrassingly pushy weeper The Bucket List, about two dying men who become unlikely friends on a road trip around the world before each kicks the bucket, is a different kind of film than the aforementioned—one so determined to move you with built-in manipulations that it doesn’t bother to muster a single original scene. It’s so sure the very idea of two beloved stars coming to terms with mortality will get us that it doesn’t do the work to get us there. The result? An odd-couple situation drama that skims, in greeting card fashion, the meaning of life, death and friendship. It is shockingly shallow considering the talent involved.

Carter Chambers (Morgan Freeman) has spent his life as an auto mechanic, a man too smart for his circumstances, a whiz at Jeopardy and not too shabby in the philosophy department. He’s a family guy at heart, believes in God and the universe and the healing power of relationships. Freewheeling Edward Cole (Jack Nicholson) is a wealthy, blustering hospital magnate, living it up, moment to moment—until he finds himself in one of his own facility beds for the very first time—you guessed it—sharing a room with Chambers.

Right there, false. We’re expected to believe that this millionaire tycoon—who runs his assistant (Sean Hayes) around, waiting on him hand and foot to supply special meals and other classy perks—would be sharing a room in his own facility? These moments are somewhat shapeless and poorly paced as the two men lie across the room chatting, and Reiner mechanically cuts back and forth between medium shots on each line.

Also shopworn is that both men are given hackneyed family problems to come to terms with—Cole has a daughter from whom he is estranged, while Chambers must re-ignite the spark with his longtime wife, the only woman with whom he has ever made love. Yawn.

Once diagnosed with a year or so left to live, the men hatch a plan to do everything they have neglected in life—skydive, race cars, safari, visit Japan, Egypt, India, China and Tibet—which the film treats like a glossy, and frequently obnoxious, holiday marching toward the inevitable. Another broad contrivance ensures Edward is rich enough to bankroll the whole thing, a too convenient way to orchestrate multiple shiny CGI wonders, many of which are just oversaturated fakery.

There is also a high embarrassment level here that makes one wonder how such distinguished actors could actually believe they might get away with singing—atop their lungs—a dreadfully unfunny version of "The Lion Sleeps Tonight" while on an African safari. Did anyone really think this would work? When you’ve got a buddy movie and the buddies are this clueless, you’re in trouble.

And then there are the confessional scenes, such as one moment overlooking the Egyptian pyramids that sets Cole up to reveal something more meaningful than what has been written. Here are some choice "truths" peppered amidst the Hallmark-ish narration: "Our lives are streams…flowing into rivers…into heaven….find the joy in your life….his eyes were closed…and his heart was open." Are they for real? Who can take this seriously?

The no-holds-barred Cole gives Nicholson much latitude to bring out his signature character of about the last twenty years—himself. Freeman trades on his familiar graceful, world-weariness, which he’s done about ten times too many now and can likely summon in a cold reading—but somehow still works.

Former A-list director Rob Reiner, who helmed Stand by Me, The Sure Thing, This is Spinal Tap and Misery, has lost his Midas touch, and The Bucket List is the latest in his string of high-profile flops. Certainly the talented director and two stars saw good intentions in the story. But the mawkish screenplay is far below their talents.

The film is a Cliff’s Notes look at the meaning of it all, and you’d have to be desperate for a good cry to allow The Bucket List to open the floodgates. At least the film closes with a lovely tune by John Mayer.

That’s about it.

- Lee Shoquist