I feel obliged to confess that one of my weaknesses in movie criticism is an aversion to certain lead characters who I feel are so flawed that they don’t deserve to be in movies.  Now I know that is nonsense; we are all flawed, and every human story is worth examination and reflection.  Nevertheless, I cannot help but rue the decisions by filmmakers that have led me to spend two hours or more in contemplation of people I either cannot understand, actively dislike or, most distressingly, feel unhappily superior to.  Such a character is Scott Carlin (Pete Davidson) in the ironically titled The King of Staten Island.

Judd Apatow’s film is a semi-autobiographical account of Pete Davidson’s life (Davidson co-wrote the script with Apatow and Dave Sirus).  Scott Carlin is a 24-year old stoner, still living with his mom (Marisa Tomei), with no meaningful existence, no prospects, and no moral compass.  This two hour-and-fifteen minute chronicle of his life eventually — e v e n t u a l l y — leads him toward maturity, once he begins to bond with the firefighter (Bill Burr) romancing his mother.  Scott has been traumatized ever since the age of 7, when his father, a firefighter, perished while responding to the 9/11 attacks in New York City.  After seventeen years, he finally begins to move past that loss.

There are certainly moments of merit in this production, especially involving Scott’s mother Margie (Tomei), sister Claire (Maude Apatow, the director’s daughter) and Ray Bishop (Burr), the lonely firefighter who finds companionship with Margie.  I also liked Kelsey (Bel Powley), Scott’s down-to-Earth sometime girlfriend.  But for the longest time I just couldn’t stand Scott.  He makes bad decision after bad decision, constantly criticizes or pushes away others, is willing to tattoo a nine-year-old boy, and unapologetically destroys everything he touches.  Sure, there must be people like Scott, and perhaps much of his self-destructive behavior originates in the loss of his father, and is regulated (or not) by the chemicals he puts into his body.  But he takes no responsibility for his actions until he finally begins to mature, thanks to being thrown out of the house and forced to fend for himself.  It’s often hard to watch, and to appreciate.

I found this movie to be painful most of the way through.  It certainly isn’t entertaining in a conventional sense.  Does a movie have to be entertaining?  Of course not, but I always prefer an entertaining experience to a painful one.  It’s difficult to separate critical feelings about to the film from a criticism of the actor whose life has inspired said film, and whose life story parallels the movie story in so many ways.  He is free to make the kind of film he wants, even if that means exposing so much of his past and his disturbing behavior to audiences.  Based on this story, I’d say the guy needs some help (probably, we all do), and I hope he gets it.  ☆ ☆.  16 January 2021.