Seven Pounds

To the Hollywood maxim, ‘Nobody Knows Anything’ we propose the following amendment – “…except that Will Smith movies make money.” It is not simply the case that this impossibly likeable actor can swell the coffers for lesser rom-com products like Hitch. Will Smith could literally show up reading the phonebook and punters all over the world would still fork over ten yoyos to see it.
Witness last year’s The Pursuit of Happyness, a perfectly ordinary self-help drama that seemed to exist purely to allow the actor to limber up his acting muscles between the twin monster box-office successes of I Am Legend and Hancock. It still managed to make $307 million, enough to justify this unofficial companion piece which re-teams Mr Smith with Pursuit’s Italian director, Gabriele Maccino.
Officially, Seven Pounds is an old-school weepie. It has, additionally, a Big Juicy Concept to propel the melodrama along. Traumatised by a car accident, our hero (Smith, of course) seeks to make amends by saving lives. To that end, he gives away his worldly goods and lines up suitable recipients for his organs. His plans to commit suicide are, however, complicated by the appearance of Rosario Dawson, an angelic beauty with a weak heart who steals his. Aw, etc.
Trouble is, we’ve worked all this out half-an-hour in and the film is left with no particular place to go. Smith puts in a bravado performance. Rosario Dawson, though hampered by the most appallingly saccharine dialogue, knocks your socks off with a Dying Young routine that deserves a spot alongside the great About To Croak giants of the genre. But its not enough to save this dirge from a plodding second half and relentless lip-trembling.