What the hell is Susan Sarandon doing in Mr. Woodcock? I realize she’s ideal in the caring mother role (she played the same part – albeit a lot more kooky – in Elizabethtown), and I realize a certain prescence was needed to match wits with the, um, formidable talents of Billy Bob Thornton and Seann William Scott (yes, Sling Blade proved Thornton was capable of great acting, but he hasn’t matched it since). But Sarandon is far and above those two, and her character is easily the weakest in the movie. Then again it’s also a testament to how weakly middle-aged female characters are written that she would need to accept a role that’s so boring in the first place.

Also, this is one of those shelf films that was made two years ago. Just before Sarandon was offered the villainess role in Enchanted, out this December.

Sarandon’s Beverley Farley is actually the only poorly-written character in Mr. Woodcock, which came as a surprise to me and probably every other critic at my screening. And, like most poorly-written supportive mothers, she at least provides the necessary impact when, near the end of the movie, she finally confronts her boys about their obvious enmity.

The other roles are sharply written: Seann William Scott’s character, John Farley, is a likeable, decent guy, with a solid life philosophy that could easily have produced a bestseller, and it’s not hard for a minute to believe he was affected the way he is by Mr. Woodcock (Thornton), his seventh-grade gym teacher, a prickly amalgamation of every worst instructor anyone’s ever had. Woodcock’s belief is that life isn’t fair, and the sooner he can teach you that, by forcing asthma sufferers to run laps or people who forgot their gym clothes to change in front of the other students, the better. Also, I’m happy to report that his name is never used as a pun during the entire movie (though it does have the obvious jokes about his lovemaking prowess).

The writers, Michael Carne and Josh Gilbert, pepper their film with terrific supporting characters like Ethan Suplee’s fellow sufferer, Needleman, who now works in a fast food restaurant and has a tendency to say the wrong thing at the right moment for his coworkers to, um, needle him, and Amy Poehler as Farley’s alcoholic agent. The writing and timing of many of the script’s comedic setpieces, such as a run-through of the folks who line up for an autograph at the beginning, is note-perfect.

Is the movie as stupid as the trailers make it look? Of course it is. What brings Farley back to his Nebraska hometown is the “cornival,” where his mother is some kind of corn queen and as a local hero he’ll be given the “corn cob key.” There’s also a thankless role for one Melissa Sagemiller, as Farley’s middle school crush. But the “cornival” is literally about as corny as it gets, and if you’re in the mood for a comedy about a thirtysomething coming face-to-face with his nastiest teacher (come to think of it, mine was in seventh grade too), this one’s certainly worth seeing.

Mr. Woodcock doesn’t hit the better-than-it-has-any-right-to-be heights of Dodgeball or Zoolander, nor is it a modern comedy classic like Knocked Up or The 40-Year-Old Virgin. It reminds me, in fact, of this year’s earlier two-year shelf release, The Ex. I liked that one too. Take of that what you will.






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