The Movie
There's something problematic about Charlie Berns, William H. Macy's character in The Deal. Macy's best characters, like those in Fargo, Boogie Nights, and Panic, are inherently decent people thrust into regrettable situations. They end up doing things they have no desire to do, but that fate has inextricably led them to. Charlie Berns, on the other hand, is an inherently terrible person thrust into a regrettable situation entirely of his own making.
He's a down-and-out Hollywood producer whose suicide is interrupted when his nephew Lionel (Jason Ritter) comes over to give him his screenplay, a boring arthouse movie about 19th century British Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli. Charlie, who would've killed himself anyway, decides to go for broke; he hires a few hacks to rewrite it as an action movie, signs rap star Bobby Mason (LL Cool J) to play the very white Disraeli, and sets out to make the worst possible movie he can, all the while sexually pursuing a put-upon development executive (Meg Ryan).
Okay, no problems there. Macy's a good actor, and capable of playing most anything you could throw at him. In fact, the character and his situation are ripe for satire (the movie tries and fails in that regard, but more on that in a second). The problem with Macy's performance, and the reason the movie feels so disjointed, is that Macy doesn't seem able to play Charlie as anything but an inherently good guy who just needs to wash the slime off. Later in the movie, as Charlie romances Deidre, the Meg Ryan character, he is such a good guy that their chemistry salvages what's left of the picture. But the transformation is half-hearted, insincere; Macy, who also co-wrote the screenplay with director Steven Schachter, never truly believes that Charlie's a jerk, and it comes off as a masquerade. If this were a Billy Bob Thornton role, I'm pretty sure he would've understood what to do. The man knows how to play douchebags.
But our failure to buy William H. Macy as a real bastard is far from The Deal's only problem. As I mentioned before, it fancies itself a Hollywood satire, and the premise is rife with opportunity. Not only is Bobby Mason a rap star action hero, he's also a rap star action hero who has recently converted to Judaism. He brings a mobile temple with him to the set, passes out yarmulkes emblazoned with "Bobby Disraeli: Freedom Fighter," and has his rabbi (Elliott Gould) made executive producer. This is all funny material, but the movie does nothing with it. The gags are amusing, but instead of playing up the absurdities, the movie supplies the punchlines and moves along. Elliott Gould, one of the best character actors in the world, is wasted. Macy must be a close friend of his.
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