Film Review: What Goes Up

With its flat-footed script and poor production values, <i>What Goes Up </i>is a movie to be endured rather than enjoyed.

Few things are more depressing than watching a talented ensemble of actors trying and failing to make the best of bad material. That's the pitiable sight on display in What Goes Up, a turgid mess of a film that has a lot of ideas on its mind, none of which prove very interesting or, in fact, coherent. And yet the cast, which includes Steve Coogan, Olivia Thirlby and Molly Shannon, gives this misbegotten production their all, even when the awkward screenplay and amateurish direction stymie their efforts again and again. Clearly, the filmmakers are savvy enough to realize that recruiting a recognizable and respectable ensemble like this is a surefire way to lure moviegoers into the theatre. The problem is keeping them there when they realize that the film itself is such a chore to sit through.

Set for no good reason against the backdrop of the tragic 1986 Challenger mission, What Goes Up introduces us to cynical big-city journalist Campbell Babbitt (Coogan), who is exiled by his editor to small-town New Hampshire to pen a human-interest story about Christa McAuliffe, the public-school teacher picked to be part of that fateful flight.

Uninterested in actually completing this assignment, Babbitt decides to look up an old college friend-turned-local high-school teacher, only to discover that he died in an apparent suicide. In addition to all his worldly possessions, this teacher left behind a homeroom full of emotionally troubled, overly hormonal teenagers who regarded him as some kind of personal savior. Smelling a good story, Babbitt ingratiates himself with the students, but quickly finds himself in over his head when sparks fly between him and one particularly comely 17-year-old (Hilary Duff), who may have been carrying on an affair with his dead pal.

A set-up like this can proceed in two ways—an American Pie-style teen sex farce or a dark, morally ambiguous comedy a la Election. But co-writer/director Jonathan Glatzer makes the mistake of attempting to fuse these tonally incompatible approaches, which results in some bizarre juxtapositions. For example, scenes of the students wrestling with their grief rest uneasily alongside more broadly comic moments, like when a male student is caught in flagrante delicto by his mother while having anal sex with a crippled classmate or when another kid masturbates furiously to the sight of his next-door neighbor breast-feeding her baby. The film isn't helped by its lackluster production values, most notably a sound mix that was marred by audible volume-level and cross-fade glitches in the print that was shown to critics.

Since Glatzer seems unable to offer them much guidance from behind the camera, the actors are left alone to navigate the screenplay's inconsistencies. That they are actually able to generate moments of honest emotion and humor amidst the film's many contrivances and technical problems is a testament to their commitment and professionalism. It's just a shame their Herculean efforts aren't in service of a better movie.