Starring John Travolta and Lisa Kudrow
When pulled off properly, a dark comedy can make us laugh, then laugh again because we are laughing at such seedy and outrageous parts of life. In “Lucky Numbers,” (Paramount, R), a few laughs interrupt nearly two hours of hit-and-miss evil deeds by nary a respectable character. In all, the movie is more spotty than a one-legged paintball player, and that’s a bad thing.
John Travolta stars as Russ Richards, a celebrity weatherman with perks that Tom Skilling of WGN would skip a tropical depression for. The small city star gives meteorological know-how with flair, earning his own parking spot and booth at Denny’s. Unfortunately, Richards spends his money on all sorts of wasteful practices, including a snowmobile shop that suffers from a lack of sales due to unseasonable warmth. Oh, what cruel climate irony.
To combat his money problems, Richards looks for a variety of ways to break even, all of which involve other greed-infested fellow characters. Richards meets Gig (Tim Roth), a strip club owner with tons of money-making schemes. This is where the movie starts bumbling along, like a lovable criminal that you’d wag your finger at before dialing 911.
Richards’ object for sex and troubles is Crystal Latroy (Lisa Kudrow), a lottery ball-reader for the same television station that employs Richards. Latroy also sees network boss Dick Simmons (Ed O’Neil) between the bedsheets. And yes, Ed O’Neil still is working.
Richards and Latroy develop a scheme with Gig to rig the state lottery by taking advantage of other characters’ misfortunes. They fill selected balls with glue, allowing them to prepare the luck of a lifetime. But neither of the two television personalities can win the prize, so they recruit Latroy’s disgusting cousin Walter (Michael Moore) as the winner.
Of course, as with any rigging of the lottery, things go awry and the characters must deal with overwhelming greed, “halfsies” deals and a hired bat (Michael Rapaport) looking to take some knees to the opposite field.
Travolta’s character, a whiny victim of his own planning, is the focal point of the story and allegedly a character to feel sorry for, grates the nerves. The theory behind most comedies involves identifying with and pulling for one of the characters, amidst the laughs. Most audience members will find themselves hoping Rapaport can show off some of the swings that made him a fixture on MTV’s “Rock and Jock” softball games in the ‘90s.
The erroneous tone can be blamed on Nora Ephron, who usually makes movies of some romantic value (“Sleepless in Seattle,” “When Harry Met Sally”). Here, much like in “Hanging Up,” romance will not bloom in dirt spiced by pure, unadulterated hatred for what’s going on. Someone should remain unscathed, a reward for not stooping to the depths of the other money-grubbing characters. Sorry to say, but that’s not the case here -- what a truly awful world to make comedies in.
Maybe the oddest part of the whole experience comes from seeing Moore as a wheezing, horny mess of a man. The director of the classic documentary “Roger and Me,” probably is the pinnacle of the viewing experience for dark comedies. But here, he’s not detailing the fall of Flint, Mich., or even plugging his presidential candidate of choice, Ralph Nader. He’s just ... there. Very odd.
Travolta’s usual giddy charm is eclipsed by what the annoying supernova Kudrow brings to her role. The bits of wit and dumb appeal that have made her “Friends” character such a hit take a back seat to uncomfortable seduction and ditzy stumbling, like a put-down in bulky heels.
Dumb can only carry so far before it is classified as stupid.
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