Vincent McKenna is a walking — and drinking and gambling and, yes, smoking — thesaurus entry for the word “cantankerous.”
* * * ½ comedy
Portrayed by Bill Murray, the titular character in the hard-to-resist is ornery, ill-tempered, peevish. On a good day, he’s merely crabby. His moods might best be embodied by the seemingly sour puss of his flat-faced cat, Felix.
We learn just how much of Vincent’s nastiness is permanent and how much of it is bluster when he begins babysitting his new next-door neighbor’s son Oliver, played with steadfast awareness and quiet vulnerability by Jaeden Lieberher.
Oliver’s mother Maggie (Melissa McCarthy) is going through a divorce and trying to make a new life for herself and the bright, slight 12-year-old.
Don’t get misty-eyed quite yet. Vincent doesn’t do this out of kindness. He’s beyond broke. He owes bookie Zucko (Terrence Howard).
After a roll in the hay, Daka, the Russian “stripper,” played by Naomi Watts, reminds him her services cannot be purchased on layaway.
Over the decades, Murray has expanded the definition of comic actor. He is able to simultaneously portray guys with finely calibrated BS meters who mete out a fair amount of BS themselves. Think Phil Connors in “Groundhog Day,” Dr. Peter Venkman in “Ghostbusters.”
Of course, it hasn’t been all fun and games. His turn as actor Bob Harris in Sofia Coppola’s “Lost in Translation” opposite Scarlett Johansson remains a portrait of melancholy and wonder.
No, Murray’s fellas are hardly the same. Yet each gets filtered through his brilliant peculiarity and expert timing.
Vincent is no different. We want to like him because we like Murray. To his credit, the star makes fondness difficult.
Instead, “St. Vincent” entrusts Oliver to persuade us. Chris O’Dowd portrays Brother Geraghty. The grade-school teacher assigns Oliver and his classmates a project on saints living among them.
It’s good to see funny gal McCarthy playing the straight woman in this comedy rather than the appealing/appalling lout. It’s even better to see a working mom depicted with care.
“St. Vincent” is hardly perfect. There’s a bully bit that is heavy-handed and overly familiar. But first-time feature director and writer Theodore Melfi has delivered a number of unexpected moments that slowly soften Vincent’s edges.
Although Vincent’s dressed as a permanent man-child when he arrives on screen, his story touches on some of the thorny issues of aging. His visits to an upscale assisted-living facility are achy and touching.
As the movie builds to its coda, Oliver proves to be a rather deft detector of the BS we adults shovel and the deeper truths it can bury.
OK, now you can get misty-eyed.
Lisa Kennedy: 303-954-1567, lkennedy@denverpost.com or twitter.com/bylisakennedy
