(500) Days of Summer quickly separates potential fans from
potential skeptics. If you chuckle at the disclaimer/”dedication” that
precedes the film, chances are that any complaints about its numerous
structural failings will sound crotchety, picky, fussy, elitist,
curmudgeonly, and unfair. If, on the other hand, you don’t find
the humor in the discordant, ugly note struck by the film’s opening
remarks, then perhaps you might want to understand why this resolutely
anticomic antiromance is so unsatisfying.
The film throws together two cute zombies and tries to explain why
their relationship fizzled. Joseph Gordon-Levitt, a decent actor not
known for his light touch, plays Tom, a greeting-card writer who’s
suddenly smitten with co-worker Summer, played by the lithe, large-
(and blank-)eyed Zooey Deschanel. The film’s narrator insists early on
that the film is not a love story but more of an inquest concerning a
dead relationship that scrambles and reassembles the days of Tom and
Summer’s courtship in its search for a cause of death.
What’s so frustrating about (500) Days of Summer is the way
its unconventional asides, voiceovers, and footnotes distract from the
fairly original story about a sensitive guy who refuses to take an
honest, forthright weirdo at her word. For example, the mysterious
narrator steps in on several occasions to provide background
information and trite, quasi-literary psychological analysis of Tom’s
and Summer’s feelings, but it’s unclear whether this voice belongs to
an older and wiser version of Tom, an obliging script doctor, or a
magical indie-film warlock sent to sprinkle the film with quirkiness
and pixie dust.
That may be a small point, but the other nonrealistic flourishes are
equally arbitrary and perplexing. The postcoital dance production seems
less and less likely the more you think about it; it’s unclear why a
guy with an undying love for Joy Division and the Smiths would burst
into an impromptu musical number set to Hall and Oates’ “You Make My
Dreams” — better known as bumper music for dozens of terrible
romantic-comedy trailers. One of the defining aspects of Tom’s
character, after all, is his obsession with Britpop. Why would he find
inspiration in an overused piece of early-’80s schlock he’d probably
hate? And Tom’s art-film daydream, which relies on embarrassing
clichés like mimes and chess-playing deities, mostly shows that
he’s never seen a movie from another country.
The failure of these nonsensical fantasy sequences is clearest in
the film’s chief contrivance. The jumbled chronology and juxtapositions
of, say, Day 303 and Day 27 yield few surprises and feel pretty
amateurish, especially for moviegoers who can remember the unexpectedly
poignant and funny pleasures of 2003’s rom-com Möbius strip
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. In contrast, the funniest
things in (500) Days of Summer are probably the costumes, which
suggest that aspiring young professionals should always dress like
second-graders on picture day.
The film finally drowns in waves of cleverness, and any potential
insights about the solipsism and neediness of a certain kind of
indie-rock boy are worn away by the never-ending tide of cutesy-poo
gimmickry.
