“The Intern” had everything going for it.
Fresh and timely premise centered on a 70-year-old widower who finds fulfillment interning for a young businesswoman and founder of a successful start-up company? Check.
Award-winning cast led by a delightfully charming Robert De Niro and badass feminist Anne Hathaway? Check.
One of the most successful female directors of all time, responsible for classics such as “Parent Trap” and “What Women Want”? Check.
The film started so strong, in hindsight it seems obvious the only way to go was down.
Though I tried to put on the blinders and ignore the warning signs, the more it chugged along, the more it became apparent — director Nancy Meyers was directionless.
“The Intern” opens with a monologue from De Niro’s character, Ben, a regular, happy old dude devoid of conflict who simply wants to be put to work.
He finds his second calling as a senior intern at the company of Jules Ostin, portrayed by Hathaway.
Though Jules is chronically overworked and too busy to notice, Ben quickly becomes an office hit with his traditional methods, work ethic and handkerchief.
Yes, handkerchief. This useless piece of snot cloth turns out to be a big deal to the script writers, who ensure you know exactly how important it is to carry one. Hint: it’s just another metaphor for old-fashioned values.
By the end of the film, Ben has filled the empty hole in his life with a pseudo-nuclear family of people from the office, complete with a masseuse girlfriend and Jules, for whom he ends up playing a substitute parent role.
As an intern, work literally becomes Ben’s life — and if that isn’t a sad commentary of what corporate America expects of today’s interns, I don’t know what is.
The film is complicated even further by Jules’ home life, where she is barely keeping it together as the breadwinner for her stay-at-home husband and daughter.
When Ben finds out Jules’ husband is cheating on her, the wheels really fall off.
Here, the film could have made a strong statement about women’s values, but is bogged down instead by the fact that Ben can’t figure out how to tell Jules about the affair in the first place.
After waiting an obscenely long and uncomfortable time for him to break the news, we find out Jules already knows, and she recognizes the contrived nature of her situation — so meta! — and she wants to take a smaller role in her company so she can mend her broken family and stay with her cheating husband.
But don’t worry, irate feminists, because she only kind of does that.
After making us sit through 121 minutes of pointless exposé, weird moments of slapstick comedy and dialogue so static and kitschy the backing track was the only thing keeping it moving, “The Intern” ends with Jules deciding she will keep her control of her company and her family intact.
And how will her husband become a better man, you ask? By carrying a handkerchief.
“The Intern” is a raging disappointment because Meyers fails to advance her exceptional premise, destroying it in the process.
It could have been a provocative social commentary. It could have been a whimsical comedy. Heck, I would have even settled for a generic family film.
But it tried to be all three, and was therefore a heaping crap-pile of time, effort and money.
Tori Ziege
