MOVIE REVIEW: Stranger Than Fiction (or how I learned to stop worrying and love Will Ferrell films that don't contain loud noises).

I love Anchorman. You love Anchorman. I love Talladega Nights. You love Talladega Nights. I love Elf. You love... ah heck, it's Christmas. Why the hell not, eh?

The aforementioned films represent the very best of Will Ferrell's two acting approaches. Hilariously loud, or even more hilariously childlike plus a pinch of naiveity. Not to mention more golden nugget encrusted ad-libs than a certain 'almost former' President of the United States (whom Ferrell excellently portrayed on behalf of Saturday Night Live). And he has indeed cornered this particular market.
But imagine the horror and skepticism (felt by myself admittedly) to hear the beady eyed funster was going to 'do a Carrey' and attempt subtle drama.

In Stranger Than Fiction, Ferrell plays a quiet and self conscious IRS agent (AKA the taxman) Harold Crick , whose life is consumed and ruled by the numbers and routine he has imposed on himself.

Not drawing any sympathy yet? Hang in there.

Like many a narrative driven film, this production features an opening voice over (Emma Thompson) that Harold begins to hear in his head whilst performing a precise horizontal toothbrush stroke for the 19th time. This is the point where any traditional voiceover now becomes a key plot device, as it responds to each of Crick's actions as he carries them out.
Even at this point, no yelling or cowbell jokes.
Circk's thought processes then go through the processes that any of ours would, given that where our life previously might have held no meaning, it is at least narrated by a soft and somewhat sensual English accent, as opposed to German. Or Botswanan.
Harold copes with the apparent madness to a point. Until..

Kay Eiffel: [narrating] Little did he know that this simple seemingly innocuous act would result in his imminent death.

Harold Crick: What? What? Hey! HELLOOO! What? Why? Why MY death? HELLO? Excuse me? WHEN?

As many of us would react, perhaps, Crick visits the shrink (though I think I would by the 18th tooth-brushtroke). Once it is determined that he isnt actually insane, as the 'voice' isnt suggesting anything to him, or influencing him, he is led to literary professor 'Dave' (Dustin Hoffman). Dave concludes that Harold is the centre of a story, and his life (and death) is existing as it is being written. His meetings with Dave prompt him to decide whether his life is a tragedy or a comedy, and judging by the devloping and initially 'butting-of-the-head' relationship between him and a reluctant client, Miss Pascal (Maggie Gyllenhaal), a punky, independent baker who has no business dabbling with 'The Man', it is destined to be a tragedy. Impending death and all.
Aside from the book-within-a-film notion, Stranger Than Fiction is a wonderfully sobering piece that poses the question regarding what would you do knowing death was coming, and you could literally hear it's morosely narrated approach?
Ferrell doesnt disappoint, and even implements a touch of his trademark naiveity to the role of an unwitting literary focus who otherwise has nothing in common with the world around him. Watching his awareness of the world, relationships, and his own quietly held down dreams (in a particularly amusing scene, Harold has narrative help purchasing a guitar) is like watching Bambi take her first trembling steps, and if it doesn't at least light a flicker of inspiration within your own personally dampened wick, I deduce you are a robot. From the future.
Admittedly, the ending initially feels like a cop-out (which I shant give away), but after realising that it might be the only way to end such an existential mindbender, acceptance sets in, as it eventually does with Mr Crick himself.