‘FRANK’ ISN’T FRANK ENOUGH
JIM GAFFIGAN, FROM LEFT, ALEX KARPOVSKY AND LOGAN MILLER STAR IN “BEING FRANK.”
“Being Frank,” the new film from director Miranda Bailey, is ostensibly a comedy. I mean, it’s certainly being marketed that way. Just look at the poster. There’s comedian Jim Gaffigan — our titular Frank — front and center, with a trademark befuddled look on his face, caught between the two families he’s kept secret from each other for nearly two decades. And yet, in all of this, there are precious few genuine laughs to be had. Instead, it adopts a tonally dissonant and thematically confused approach to what is, in essence, little more than a Lifetime movie writ large.
But where that cable network would likely render this premise with enough soapy camp to keep you tuned in through the commercials, Bailey and screenwriter Glen Lakin try to wring both laughs and profundity from their Big Bad Bigamist hook. And sadly, they fall short on both counts. This is a film where you spend nearly two hours watching game actors go through their paces, grinding through what is, at its core, a pretty soul-crushing scenario for any character to be thrust into, while being told it’s all just a bit of fun.
Set in 1992, although the date doesn’t really come into play except for the stray music cue and a Bill Clinton reference or two, “Being Frank” — original title: “You Can Choose Your Family” — positions itself as a coming-ofage fable for our young lead, Philip (the appealing Logan Miller). Dealing with an emotionally distant father and nonexistent social life, he’s struggling under the weight of who he wants to be and who he’s expected to be. Accepted into NYU but told by Dad he won’t be able to attend, he hits his lowest ebb.
It’s a promising if not conventional start, with a light touch and wistful mien that brings to mind 2013’s excellent “The Way, Way Back,” which covered similar thematic ground about a young man trying to find his identity while dealing with a domineering father figure. Things take a hard left turn, however, when Philip inadvertently discovers Frank’s deep, dark secret. Not that he’s having an affair, which would almost be more acceptable, but that he has a whole other family stashed away.
Suddenly Philip must weigh whether to expose his father or use this new information as leverage to forge the kind of relationship with him he never had. Of course, it’s not long before family one — wife Laura (Anna Gunn) and daughter Lib (Emerson Tate Alexander) — are rushing headlong toward family two — wife Bonnie (Samantha Mathis), son Eddie (Gage Polchlopek) and daughter Kelly (Isabelle Phillips). Meanwhile, Kelly, blissfully unaware of their familiar connection, might be developing romantic feelings for Philip. So that’s probably bad.
The immediate aftermath of Philip’s discovery of the Big Darn Secret leads to some fun moments of genuine growth for both characters, and Gaffigan — who’s built a thriving stand-up career on the challenges of being a harried father — is so likable, he imbues Frank with pathos and humor. We may not want to throw the guy a parade, but we don’t outright hate him either. That said, maybe we kind of need to? I mean, the near-miss “Game of Thrones” moment between Kelly and Philip alone is the kind of thing that could easily put some shrink’s kids through college.
In all of this, it’s the two wives who are probably most ill-served, with a surprising lack of agency in their arcs that not only does a disservice to two very talented actors (Mathis and Gunn), but also heightens the sense that the film didn’t want to dive too deep into the potential psychological trauma inherent in its themes. Indeed, by Act 3, we’re in full-on “Three’s Company” territory, with Gaffigan making like Jack Tripper racing back and forth to keep two girlfriends from discovering each other.
Lakin’s screenplay veers so wildly between sitcom antics, pitch-black comedy and heartwarming family drama that it leaves you feeling whiplashed. The film never quite merges its divergent tones, leaving “Being Frank” a frustrating mix of promising elements and appealing performances shackled to an unwieldy central premise that dispenses with joy the way a black hole dispenses with light.