Matthew Broderick graduates from “boyish” and lurches straight into “curmudgeonly” in the would-be indie heartwarmer “Wonderful World.”
I’m not even sure Broderick’s voice ever finished changing, but here he is as a truculent copy editor who spends his days in snarling desolation, warning that “the man” is keeping his boot heel on idealism’s esophagus. “Why is it all about greed, agenda, money?” he wails. He’s the ant at every picnic — or would be, if anyone invited him out of the house anymore.
Ben (Broderick) has one friend: his Senegalese roommate (Michael Kenneth Williams, erstwhile Omar from “The Wire”) who speaks in parables over chess matches. Ben’s tween daughter, meanwhile, keeps coming up with excuses why she doesn’t want to spend mandatory custody-sharing time with him.
Who would? A problem of the curmudgeon flick is that it’s doubly difficult to make the audience care. Although Broderick turns in a typically strong performance and may make you feel the plight of the lonely scourge, the character is a pill. His rueful analysis of the phrase “bottom line” as an indicator that the speaker is about to do something reprehensible is witty, but it isn’t enough.
Moreover, the road to healing is littered with the memories of other movies: It turns out that getting his groove back can be neatly assisted by a colorful immigrant (Sanaa Lathan, as the sister of Ben’s roommate) who presents him with simple Third World aphorisms, tasty ethnic meals and “vibrant” African dance music.
We learn such lessons as “magic is everywhere” (Really? Even at Sbarro at closing time?) while surreal touches such as visits from “the Man” (Philip Baker Hall) aren’t amusing enough to overcome resistance to their artifice.
Moreover, the central message — “Thanks, colorful immigrants! What would mean white men do without your earthy tutelage?” — smacks of the justly derided “Magical Negro” school of filmmaking, in which black people serve as wish-fulfillment waiters politely bringing plates of genuineness and inspiration to messed-up white folk.