“The King of Staten Island” is one of those 10-block-radius life slices whose smallness and intimacy ought to be a virtue. But the movie seems afraid of itself.
It’s the story of a 24-year-old named Scott (Pete Davidson), who lives at home until his widowed mother, Margie (Marisa Tomei), starts dating somebody and kicks him out. Scott is long, mouthy, heavily inked, insecure and managing a mental illness. He dreams of opening a restaurant that doubles as a tattoo parlor, an idea only he finds appetizing. In the opening sequences, Scott appears to be fighting an anxiety attack and flees the scene of a car accident. But none of the trouble he causes sticks. His father died 17 years ago. That, apparently, is trouble enough. So he sits around, throws a little fit every once in a while and gives people ugly tattoos — which means his trouble sticks to them.
Margie coddles him and works two nursing jobs. Until an Italian place takes him on as a busboy, Scott works none. He has regular sex with a friend, Kelsey (Bel Powley), who believes he’s better than he believes he is. And a lot of time is spent denting sofas with his stoned, drug-dealing homies (Ricky Velez, Moisés Arias and Lou Wilson). His sister, Claire (Maude Apatow), just drove off to college, and his mother’s new boyfriend — Ray (Bill Burr) — makes Scott walk his two kids to school. Ray’s a firefighter like Scott’s dad, and carries himself with an affable saltiness that irritates Scott but lets Burr keep us on our toes.
Judd Apatow directed this movie, which is available on-demand, and wrote it with Davidson and Dave Sirus. He establishes tension between Scott and everybody else, but it’s too loose to build into anything substantial or surprising over its two-plus hours. I’ve seen much stronger movies where less happens in more time. Here, the line between depth and bloat never comes close to fine. Apatow has left everything in. The scenes don’t unfold or reveal personalities. They just pile up; they’re long bits — parties and hangouts and meals. A violent robbery comes out of nowhere and leads to even less.
Apatow’s strength is the management of actors through improvised chaos. The people in “Staten Island” are brassy and brightly burnt out — stereotypes maybe but more than that. Minutes into the movie, Kelsey has brought her friend, Tara (Carly Aquilino), to chill with Scott and his buddies in somebody’s basement. Aquilino is a natural. Her surprise and attentiveness are fantastic. When Claire tells her that Velez’s character has an STD, Tara practically glows. “It’s curable,” she purrs, undeterred. That’s the movie’s second scene. You hardly see her again. Folks like Lynne Koplitz, who plays Margie’s sister, and Pamela Adlon, as Ray’s ex, do great throwaway comedy with pauses and deadpanning. They have just enough to do.
But it’s not in the service of much. At some point, Scott comes back home and sees what Margie’s done with the place, and Davidson and Koplitz go at it. When Margie sends him outside so they can talk, she meets him at the front door then closes it in his face. I laughed. Margie has finally freed herself from the burden of this adult child who still wants to cling. She wants her nest empty. She’s also a little drunk. And Tomei gives Margie’s resolve as much earthen soul as she can.
But at this length, “Staten Island” should be a meatier Oedipal comedy — about Scott and Margie’s grief, stagnation and codependency; about Claire’s resentment of their bond — the kind of funny movie that’s a raw moment away from the tragedy just below its surface. Apatow was straining for that kind of feeling with “Funny People,” from 2009. But he hasn’t gotten his comedy near true pathos since “The 40-Year-Old Virgin.” That was 15 years and five movies ago.
This new film is based on Davidson’s life before he got to “Saturday Night Live.” It doesn’t delve far into what it’s like for Scott as an average person whose mental illness makes him feel as if he has no control of himself. All the sharp writing happens in the early going, when Scott and Kelsey talk about antidepressants’ effect on orgasms. It’s a moment so tender that you don’t know why most of the rest of the movie isn’t as finely etched and acted (despite Powley’s overeager New Yawk brazenness). There are other similar moments, like some late scenes involving Davidson, Burr and the firefighters at Ray’s firehouse, and Scott ruminating on what tattooing means to him.
One of Davidson’s recurring “S.N.L.” sketches has him playing Chad, a vaping, all-purpose empty vessel whose vapidity only heightens people’s lust for him. The success of the bit relies on scene partners who take things way over the top while Davidson stands there and embodies and absorbs. His lankiness, pallor, sleepy eyes and broad mouth are more expressive here. He seems like a comic-strip character slouching through real life and in “Staten Island,” like a sketch-comedy star acclimating to 136-minute movies.
The King of Staten Island
Rated R. Sex, drugs, vaping, robbery, awful homemade tattoos. Running time: 2 hours 16 minutes. Rent or buy on Amazon, Apple TV, Vudu and other platforms and pay TV operators.
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