Ned lives contently with Willie Nelson (his dog) and girlfriend, Liz, somewhere in upstate New York. The vibe is reminiscent of hippiedom, or at least re-imagined hippiedom. Liz and Ned are idealists, which intones that they’re pacifists, and they often cite modes of non-violence when bickering. They work an organic farm, wear Crocks instead of Birkenstocks and seemingly groom themselves regularly. This all suggests that they have caught up with the times and are aware of the world despite their constant aura of aloofness.
At the same time, Ned, while peddling his edible wares at a farmers’ market, sells a bad of marijuana to a uniformed police officer, which gives cause for his eventual parole officer to suggest “he must be retarded.” Despite the previews, this scene is less comical than it is sad. Ned is not a reincarnation of Kunu, Paul Rudd’s other stoner character from Forgetting Sarah Marshall, so it’s not his THC-bogged synapses that impel this ill-advised sale. Rather, it’s Ned’s faith that people are more genuine that advantageous.
As Ned mans his booth, Officer Washburn (Bob Stephenson) approaches and, through mimed smoking, complete with forefinger and thumb pressed tightly together and repeatedly touching his tightly pursed lips, asks if Ned has anything – because he’s had a rough week. The officer’s schlocky, unnatural gesticulation gives Ned a heads up, so he declines, saying, “even if I knew where to find some, I wouldn’t tell you.” This is all done with an earnest smile and an awareness of social regulations.
But then the officer keeps pushing his sad story, and Ned relents, handing over a bag, hid sort of discreetly by a large carrot. Ned still isn’t arrested. Not until the officer insists on handing over twenty dollars. Now, Ned is arrested, and while I think this is dangerously close to coercion, the overall theme of the movie is clear: take responsibility for your own actions.
Ned serves eight months in jail – his amiable nature gets him released early – and when he heads back to the farm, his girlfriends has adopted a new boyfriend, and refuses to hand over Willie Nelson. There’s a comical powerplay here that often results in terse exchanges: “wow,” “yeah,” “uncool,” and “wow,” but the focus here is to provide Ned with something to care about: his dog.
As this plot point courses throughout, Ned travels to New York City, staying with each of his three sisters. Invariably, his idealism wreaks havoc on their lives, illustrating once again the perils of being responsible. One sister (Emily Mortimer) is coping with a philandering husband (Steve Coogan), another (Elizabeth Banks) is a writer for Vanity Fair but is unable to get the headlining story she needs without subterfuge, and the final (Zooey Deschanel) is a bisexual who’s long-time girlfriend (Rashida Jones) is going to be a bit perturbed to find out she’s going to be a father.
Forgive the lack of names here, but they’re rather unnecessary. The performances are decent all around, but the characters themselves are flat stereotypes and placeholders, replacing sympathy with predictability and evolution with derivative little bows. They merely function to move the story along. Ned goes to jail; Ned wants his dog; Ned can’t get his dog; Ned keeps trying to get his dog. The rest is filler. Slightly entertaining filler, but filler nonetheless.
Ned, somehow, is blamed for his sister’s impending divorce and her husband’s adultery. He’s blamed for killing the other sister’s story and shattering her precarious relationship with the downstairs neighbor. He’s also blamed for spilling the beans about his forthcoming niece or nephew. Predictably, there’s a falling out, a mini outburst, and a saccharine reconciliation
About halfway through, the audience should get the impression that the film’s intent is to allude to the injustice of Ned spending eight months in jail over a petty crime that lacks malicious intent while those around him seem to wade in the moat dividing earnestness and legal immorality. Ned’s genuineness juxtaposed with the overall flat characters make this tale palatable, but there is often a need for a dash of realism.
