Movie review: The Invention of Lying

In world of petty truthfulness, man with forked tongue wields absolute power.

by John P. Meyer

Uh oh: subversive satire alert!

The Invention of Lying, masterminded by Ricky Gervais and Matthew Robinson, took me completely by surprise. That's because -- per standard practice -- I made a point to find out as little as possible about the film before seeing it.

That is, I didn't read the IMDB page; I didn't google for info; most importantly, I avoided watching the movie's trailer, which was likely to have exposed me to plot specifics via actual scenes from the film. (Although trailers don't always prove revelatory of the film in question.)

And here's what surprised me: The film's title is meant to be literal, and not a metaphorical phrase intended to paint poetic shadings onto a real-world romantic comedy situation. So when the film opens with a blind date scenario in which Mark Bellison (Ricky Gervais) introduces himself to Anna McDoogles (Jennifer Garner) -- and they both tell each other exactly what they're thinking, without any sort of socially-conscious filtering -- we get the idea that this is indeed a fantasy world in which the very concept of deceit is unknown.

(Anna's recounting of what she's been up to prior to Mark's earlier-than-expected arrival proves intensely personal and downright prurient in nature, establishing the irreverent tone for all that is to -- ah -- come.)

The odds-against romance that might (or might not) develop between Mark and Anna provides a springboard for the larger -- and quite risky -- social commentary which comprises the core of the comedic narrative. Consider what advertising, for instance, might be like without prevarication. (Think: "Coke, the sugar water you've been drinking anyway, so please keep on drinking it.") Or speculate on the form that movies themselves might take, once we consider that screenwriting involves lying, as does acting -- which by definition involves people pretending to be other people, pretending to do things they aren't actually doing.

And if we couldn't lie, how many of us would go about our daily work routines with cheery smiles on our faces? Instead -- like the employees at Mark's film production company -- we'd be sulking around the office hallways, hangdog and glum, or standing out in the parking lot, demonstrating an honest reluctance to even set foot in the building.

What about place names? Instead of "Assisted Living Centers," we might label a retirement home as "A Sad Place for Hopeless Old People" (as per the film). Hard to argue against that nomenclature's truthfulness.

While viewing the movie, I was regularly surprised (and, perversely, delighted) at the many ways in which lying is demonstrated to be both healthful and positive. Think about lies we tell ourselves: "I'll find someone; I'll be happy; day by day, in every way, I'm getting better and better." Some of this stuff may well prove to be true for some of us; some of it clearly won't for others. But if we failed to hold it out as a possibility, we'd end up like Frank (Jonah Hill), who meets Mark in the elevator each morning to talk about his latest scheme for suicide.

It's a monolith-worthy moment when Mark discovers his unique ability to deceive (though, thankfully, the much-overused Also Sprach Zarathustra scoring is dispensed with). He's just been fired from his thankless job; his landlord is evicting him because he can't pay the rent. He's gone to the bank to extract the last $300 from his account so he can rent a truck to remove his belongings from the apartment, but the teller can't access the bank records. There's a system failure. So she asks him: "How much money do you have in your account?"

There's a bit of internal wheel-turning (or gray matter bubbling, in point of fact), followed by Mark hesitantly answering: "Eight hundred dollars." Which is the amount he owes in rent.

But -- curses! -- the teller's computer restores, showing Mark's true account balance of $300. And here's the genius part: Since no one in this fantasy world, including the teller, has ever dealt with a falsehood before (or even understands the concept), she just assumes the computerized system has glitched, apologizes, and counts out the $800.

Bingo. A new reality is born for Mark -- and all of humanity, as things turn out. After paying off the landlord (Ruben Santiago-Hudson), he hastens to the local watering hole and attempts to explain his newfound ability to a drinking buddy named Greg (Louis C.K.). The best Mark can do by way of description is: "I said something that wasn't." Which, given the universal paradigm of truthfulness, totally fails to register.

Another giant leap is about to be performed, and this one occurs when Mark visits his dying mother (Fionnula Flanagan) in the infirmary wing of the Sad Place for Hopeless Old People. She's distraught over the prospect of simply ceasing to exist, so he invents a fiction for her involving an afterlife, where she'll live forever with all her friends and family. She dies anyway, but she dies happy.

The attending physician (Jason Bateman) and nurses overhear Mark's well-intentioned storytelling, and word spreads like wildfire that someone has discovered something new about what happens to people when they die. The concept of religion is born; Mark fleshes out the details (on the back of two Pizza Hut boxes) and delivers a kind of Moses on the Mount lecture to the assembled throng in front of his apartment building, verbally side-stepping in response to logical questions posed by his credulous audience:

One can see how this sort of thematic material might prove challenging to viewers who cleave to dogmatic religious beliefs. Unless they recall that a) it's only a movie, and b) this whole thing takes place in a fantasy world that doesn't really exist.

Like Lilliput, for instance.

All through these proceedings, Mark and Anna continue sparring over the feasibility of their romance, with she finding him both interesting and pleasant, and he, natch, responding favorably to her good looks and kindness -- no lying necessary. The roadblock that keeps them apart involves her attractive-person genes vs. his rather dumpy ones. Anna just can't get around the fact that the outcome of their mating would be short, fat kids (with pug noses). This little side-story becomes fairly tedious after its third or fourth visitation.

Memorable supporting performances are turned in by Tina Fey (as Mark's uniquely unappreciative secretary, Shelley); Jeffrey Tambor (as Anthony, Mark's boss at the film studio); and especially Rob Lowe (as Brad Kessler, Mark's chief rival both at work and for the affections of the lovely Anna). Watch for a key cameo appearance by Ed Norton, whom you may not recognize until he removes his mirrored sunglasses.

It strikes me after all this scribbling that I've failed to emphasize how laugh-out-loud hilarious this movie is. Much of this is due to the fact that its premise is delivered with such deadpan earnestness: The characters are fully invested in their unremittingly truthful reality, which - ironically - precludes the existence of humor. The scripting is intelligent, witty, and scintillating, and the narrative seldom drags. The Invention of Lying is one of the few Saturday Night Live skit-type premises that holds up at feature film length.

This is one of the most satisfying and well-rounded comedies I've seen in years. Honest to The Man in the Sky.