Up for a new start, Arthur Newman (Coin Firth) fakes his own death so he can be reborn as a whole new entity with a whole new name and documents. Newman (apparently no relation to Mad Magazine’s immortal Alfred E. Newman) attempts to abandon his old life as easily as he does his old car. Unfortunately, while he replaces the car with a shiny Mercedes convertible, his new life takes on a far duller tone.
Mirroring his self-described “boring” former self, he faces a major challenge on the first night of his freedom with all the aplomb of a robot. He witnesses a young free spirit (Emily Blunt) arrested by police. She’s highly intoxicated and in need of rescue. It helps move the plot when she just shows up at Newman’s motel soon afterward, propped in a chair by the pool. He’s initially reserved and very helping but aloof. Before we know it the two are on a road trip to Newman’s own personal nirvana. It seems he’s a former golf pro who was once given a promise by a Country Club owner in Indiana that he could come up and start working as a golf pro any time he wanted. While it’s not exactly of Of Mice And Men proportions, the pipedream at the end of the rainbow sets up a not unpleasant dark sheen to the film. Blunt is entertainingly slacker/schizo baffling as her bossy character continually prods the buttoned-up Newman to let down his hair a little. Once he gets a whiff of her intentions he begins to gradually yield.
Soon Blunt devours him, leading him into the very unusual practice of stalking happy couples and then breaking into their homes during their absence for a little fornication in locally-sourced costumes. More eerie than humorous, their marauding oddly compels more than repels. Two of our finest screen actors today, Blunt and Firth force an engaging hold on their audience (the British born Blunt seems to get deeper and deeper into American characters with every role of late). It’s as if they’re given a largely blank canvas to paint to their heart’s content. They are fun to watch even when the film is no picnic. Anne Heche is underused as Arthur’s left-behind girlfriend.
Unfortunately, the leanness of Arthur Newman catches up with it before long. Its original almost Twilight Zone vibe stalls after Blunt perilously runs out of tricks. A seemingly last-resort meager subplot involving Firth’s estranged son and Blunt’s institutionalized sister dampens Blunt’s spirit along with the film’s. By then she and Firth have fortunately ratcheted up what could have been a simply dull movie into a unique if stumbling patchwork of a quite different American dream.