Liar Liar and the Fanta-Comedy Problem
By Marc V. Calderaro
Liar Liar — the 1998 fantasy comedy where Jim Carrey cannot lie for one day — is simple on the surface. One can easily imagine its origin.
(1) Take Jim Carrey, and
(2) Make him say the crazy stuff in his head all the time!
The hijinks seemingly writes itself. As it exists, Liar Liar’s narrative takes high-powered attorney Fletcher Reede (Carrey), a barely present father who gets by with his charm and disarming humor, despite often lying to people’s faces. His constantly disappointed son wishes that for one day his father couldn’t lie; enter one hijinks-filled day.
Though it’s a joy of a film — if a bit tonally split — every time I watch it, I think of how it could be so much more. Making a story about a bad, lawyer father who can’t say anything untrue is complete dramatic gold.
“Fanta-Comedies” & Muddy Tones
Comedies with a fantastical hook — which I call “fanta-comedies” — often skew towards silliness because it’s inherently difficult for your audience to buy this one fantastical premise, yet treat the rest of the film seriously. The genre has tons of entrants: infinite body-swap comedies, a whole sub-genre of Adam Sandler films (Click comes to mind), and even some man-into-dog shenanigans. For the most part, these are all heavy on the comedy and light on the human drama. Regardless of the potential earnestness in the story of someone having the ability to control time with a remote control.
This explain why Liar Liar’s tone is a bit muddled. The abstract premise and first act is so full of dramatic potential, but the latter acts are so full of Carrey fighting with a pen, making absurd mouth noises while pulling his lips apart and sticking his tongue out, and beating himself up in a bathroom for over a minute. Given the this fanta-comedy sub-genre, it’s understandable, but I can’t help but think there’s a more heartfelt version of the movie in there somewhere.
Into the Nitty Gritty
If you ratchet up the honest emotion in fantacomedies and Liar Liar specifically, probably by reining in Carrey, there are scenes that would be truly dramatic and amazing — and by the end, would amount to a message larger than the film’s parts.
For example, the scene where Reede is confronted by his secretary on his lies about a raise he denied, could’ve been about trying to be a good-guy boss while having to do bad-guy boss things. Instead, all feeling and tension is lost in Carrey’s wild gesticulations while eating paper and goose-stepping. We must infer any emotional depth to match Carrey’s masterful physical depth.
“Instead, all feeling and tension is lost in Carrey’s wild gesticulations while eating paper and goose-stepping.”
The film’s premise is so good because of a deceptively simple fact: Lying is often a necessary part of being an adult. In fact, we’ve created entire sub-classes of lies to determine which are “harmless” and which betray a more sinister intent.
“White lies,”
exaggeration,
minimization,
“lies by error,”
“lies by omission,”
bluffing,
even “butler lies”
all carry distinct moral and emotional baggage. Some are relationship-destroying, and some carry very little weight at all. A story about man, especially a lawyer and father, who can use none of these tactics and methods to interact with his community — after building his life around it — is rife with real human drama. Sadly, the film plays on very little of that potential.
Look, Liar Liar is very successful for what it is: a goofball comedy that showcases Jim Carrey’s comic gifts, while providing a first attempt for Carrey to flex his nascent earnestness muscles. (It should surprise no one that within a decade Carrey had added The Truman Show, Simon Birch, Man on the Moon, The Majestic, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, The Number 23, and I Love You Phillip Morris to his resume.) However, I think the movie could have been more than its wacky one-act-setup–two-act-punchline routine. If it starred say, Tom Hanks, or if it were produced for the post-Eternal Sunshine Jim Carrey, the film could have been something completely different.
What Could Have Been
“The film’s premise is so good because of a deceptively simple fact: Lying is often a necessary part of being an adult.”
There are infinite dramatic avenues to explore when an adult can’t lie, or it could examine the nature of lying itself. For example, the film could ask: What makes a “lie”? Does spinning a yarn that never answers a question count? Do lies by omission count?
Liar Liar shortcuts this dramatic question by saying, in the words of director Tom Shadyac, that the curse is “Truth Tourette’s” — Carrey can’t help but blurt out what he’s thinking. This method plays out well in some scenes (the homeless person asking for change comes to mind), but this choice also makes for illogical moments.
When a colleague asks “How’s it hanging?” Carrey responds, “Short, shriveled, and always to the left.” Though he’s not “lying,” there’s also little reason for him to say that. Unless of course the colleague was actually asking about Reede’s penis. (However, if he were, this could’ve been an entirely different film.) Additionally, when Reede replies to a fat man’s question of “What’s up?” with “Your cholesterol,” it’s not really the truth — he’s just being a dick. Without questioning the premise, there’s no way for the film to expound on the nature of lying.
Making the film less broadly comic would still allow for some of Carrey’s lasting performance to be around. There’s no reason why the immortal “Jerry, enjoy my wife,” reaction would be gone. Nor providing his ne’er-do-well client the legal advice, “Stop breaking the law, asshole!” even if it were delivered slightly less, well, Carrey-like. In fact, my favorite Carrey-ism hints at my version of the film when Reede’s son opens up the present bought by Reede’s secretary.
This is my favorite scene in the film. Carrey perfectly deflects the fact that he didn’t buy the present, and is still genuinely loving towards his son, even though we as the audience are in on the insincerity of his gesture. The whole scene feels honest and understands the interplay of using lying as a way to create “truer” emotional bonds. Lying can be used for good and for evil; it’s a grey world we live in sometimes. This same sentiment could be resonant throughout.
Bringing Out the Best
“All right now let me tell you something … I’m a bad father.”
The first truth Reede utters also showcases the sociability of lying honestly. After having sex with his boss, while lying in bed, she asks Reede, “Was it good for you?” His response: “I’ve had better.” (If in a similar situation, we should all avoid saying this line.) And for the next few minutes of the movie, Reede thinks about that situation, and tries to grapple with how he could have said that awful truth. Some of it is laughing out loud to himself, some of it is repeating the line while looking into a mirror and brushing his teeth. This is so relatable; we’ve all been there as well. That same feeling is done with brilliance in P.T. Anderson’s Punch-Drunk Love. Sandler’s character finishes a date saying “And bye-bye,” then repeats the flub multiple times as he walks away from her apartment.
In my version of Liar Liar, instead of ending that earnest sequence with Reede fake suckling a woman’s breast in an elevator accompanied by a slapstick foley punch, he would tell another small lie to someone else in his life. Maybe he sees a regular on his way to work, and can’t excuse himself from conversation because he relies on lies. This would bring up more grey areas, while helping Reede to believe that he’s cursed, but in a less over-the-top, boob-driven fashion. I’d still believe this character is a real human.
Another amazing honest moment is when Reede forgets he has to pick up his son and blurts out, “I’m such a shit!” much to his own surprise. It’s a wonderful revelation, but it’s preceded by so much Carrey shenanigans, the moment is too-quickly drowned out. Just like a scene when Reede admits to his ex-wife that he’s a bad father.
The moment comes out of nowhere. In the middle of an argument, he spouts with argumentative conviction, “All right now let me tell you something … I’m a bad father.” This is reflected later in the film. When Reede understands better the curse M.O., he rolls with the punches, calling himself “Max’s bad father” to his son’s teacher with little embarrassment. These moments are right here in the film, but are so clouded with silliness their impact is deadened. Because the filmmakers understand this fanta-comedy problem.
I would love to see as Reede gets used to his curse, learning that framing the truth in the right way can build emotional bonds better and less manipulatively than lying can. It’s a subtle lesson, and I see why Liar Liar eschewed it, but it’s a message that would be even harder to get across in a movie without this exact fanta-comic pretense. This is why I think the premise has such reach.
Wrapping it Up with Help from Tom Hanks
“Liar Liar has all the makings to be just as emotionally true, devastating, and powerful. It just has to stop letting Carrey mug the camera every other shot.”
Watching Big again, I’m reminded of how hard a road it is to tow between genuine human moments and outlandish silly ones. Tom Hanks as the lead does so with bravada (thanks also to the writers Gary Ross and Anne Spielberg, and director Penny Marshall), dancing between comedy and drama. And despite being a fantastical story about a boy who becomes a man simply by wishing it so, everything feels believable and earned, and at the end the message of the film is just as important as the 100 minutes that preceded it.
I’m sure Big was an influence on the writers of Liar Liar, Paul Guay and Stephen Mazur — the beats are so similar. But both director Shadyac and Carrey seems more interested in channeling Steve Martin and Jerry Lewis than Tom Hanks. And that’s quite fine — this film, and Carrey specifically, does a great job of channeling that Jerk-like tone. But I can’t help but think with a subtler touch, the film’s emotional impact would be more lasting.
I would love to remake Liar Liar today. I would probably re-cast Carrey, but have him give a more Eternal Sunshine performance, and write the script to reflect that. After all, Eternal Sunshine is itself a fanta-comedy. Carrey and the rest of the filmmakers explore what life would be like if you could erase parts of your memory, and how would it affect romantic relationships, attraction, and deep emotion. Liar Liar has all the makings to be just as emotionally true, devastating, and powerful. It just has to stop letting Carrey mug the camera every other shot.
There’s such amazing subtly surrounding lies. I would love to see a movie that can wrestle with that drama, but still remain Jim-Carrey playful. As it is, Liar Liar is a genuinely fun romp that bridges the Ace Ventura Jim Carrey to the Truman Show Carrey.
I just can’t help but think it could have been so much more. And maybe that’s on the filmmakers, but maybe that’s just the fanta-comedy problem.
