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Aziz Ansari's directorial debut, the fantasy comedy from actor the director, is struggling in theaters. Several reasons may explain its performance: Its uninspired name doesn't convey the movie's unique charm. Its script can be moralizing and obvious with the themes. Its performances seem uninspired and presentational, as if the cast were reading lines straight from a script. Moreover, it arrives at a time marked by financial anxiety and inequality, which may render audiences not very receptive to a narrative that suggests wealthy individuals have every benefits while the poor possess heart.

But, here's where the movie excels: It's unique, daring, creative, often funny, and certainly relevant. Plus, it offers a enjoyable the actor character-driven experience.

Keanu Reeves as an Guardian: A Familiar Performance

I have not considered Keanu Reeves a good performer. The actor's monotonal delivery and consistent expression of slight concern has consistently seemed one-note, despite his wide range of characters he's played over the past four decades of his career. Astute directors have placed him in roles where that stoic nature fits perfectly, from My Own Private Idaho to the sci-fi classic to the action series. Yet nearly every one of those roles required Reeves to appear tough, closed-off, and removed.

In Good Fortune, Reeves portrays Gabriel, one minor protecting angel assigned with watching over people who text while behind the wheel. His entire job is sitting in his cars and lightly touching the drivers' shoulders when they are about to have an accident, warning the person in order that the driver stop before impact. But, when positioned high above the city, looking down on the mortal world like a interpretation of the angel in Wim Wenders' renowned movie Wings of Desire, the character gets aspirational. He desires to become a great guardian and a savior of lost individuals.

A Surprising Turn: Reeves Playing a Human

Therefore, he reveals his presence to struggling odd-jobber a character (played by Aziz Ansari), who's residing out of a vehicle and cursing his life. The angel then exchanges Arj with the life of stupidly wealthy tech mogul Jeff (played by Seth Rogen). The point behind the experiment is for the character would understand the wealthy man's existence has significant downsides, and gratefully return to his own life, much like a figure in It's a Wonderful Life.

Issue was, the character right away realizes how the mogul's problems (boring meetings, expensive heating invoice) prove negligible and easily resolved using wealth. Arj further sees that being affluent provides limitless opportunities for self-indulgent enjoyment. He shows zero interest in returning to his own situation, and the angel is unable to compel Arj to return. Then, more trouble arrives: Because of exceeding his mandate and disrupting the order of existence, the character is fired as an celestial role, and transformed to a mortal.

A Revelation: The Actor Grins

Personally, I remained never convinced by Reeves playing an celestial being who has big aspirations and an intense desire to make a difference. He delivers the same somewhat constipated performance he has been providing for no less than the last three decades. Watching him as an celestial being who's recently turned mortal for the first time, however, proved to be a blast, due to something that really astonished me initially: It's an element different for Reeves. Or perhaps to be precise, an aspect old.

Soon into his baffling career as a mortal, clinging to the wealthy character (who the angel exchanged with the handyman's precarious existence and jobless situation), the character starts tentatively trying out everyday experiences like chewing and consuming food. And Reeves smiles. Authentically, hesitantly, joyously beams. (This is a lot more convincing than his smile shown in the promotional image, that looks digitally altered.)

Why This Grin Matters

It truly surprised me to realize how unexpected and welcome the smile felt. When did we last audiences saw the actor grin in a film in which he was not showing malice, sarcasm, or resentment? He likely attempts it somewhere in 2020's misbegotten Bill & Ted Face the Music, however I am not going to returning to the disappointment to confirm. The actor has remained typecast with grim, murderous, introspective, or just solemn characters for such a duration that just seeing Reeves grin seemed like observing a completely new actor.

While the story progresses, Gabriel finds himself needing to get a kitchen position, a role that doesn't pay sufficient to live on, and he begins chain-smoking out of disappointment. Just the image of Reeves in a disposable paper food-service cap, his late-career signature locks tied in an unglamorous bun, leaning on a building and puffing on a smoke, proves worthy of the price of admission. The kitchen worker getup completely alters his face and body: Suddenly, the slim, suited physical powerhouse of his famous movies becomes gawky, ordinary, and much increasingly relatable.

A Joy of Watching Reeves Loosen Up

The film is not consistently enjoyable to watch, particularly when Ansari (who additionally wrote the script) must find plausible reasons for {Ar