Paul Rudd: Affable everyman, sometimes leading man

Six years ago, Paramount and MGM were blessed with the opportunity to right an ancient Hollywood wrong when filmmaker Joe Carnahan attempted to cast an everyman-type actor as Paul Kersey, the mild-mannered architect turned heat-packing vigilante, in a new adaptation of Brian Garfield’s "Death Wish." 

Carnahan’s idea was to approximate the unmade 1970s version that would’ve paired director Sidney Lumet with America’s favorite underdog, Jack Lemmon, rather than work a lazy variation on the franchise-launcher that presented firmly established action-star Charles Bronson as a reluctant killer. Unsurprisingly, the studios insisted on Bruce Willis. Carnahan wisely walked and the rest is barely film history.

But what if Carnahan had won his battle with the suits? Suppose he’d been allowed to call his casting tune. Is there a movie star working today whose journey from family man to righteous murderer would’ve played anywhere near as unnerving as Lemmon’s? Is there someone whose manic, occasionally desperate energy could be amplified in a believably shocking manner? Can you imagine the affable Paul Rudd walloping a would-be mugger with a sockful of rolled quarters?

Ever since his breakthrough performance as the conscientious former stepbrother who falls not-too-creepily for Alicia Silverstone’s flighty do-gooder in Amy Heckerling’s "Clueless," Rudd has occupied that Lemmon-y cinematic space more reliably than any actor of his generation. Rudd may be more boyishly handsome (alarmingly so as he turns 50 on April 6) and considerably less neurotic than Lemmon, but they’re both natural hams who seem to be constantly testing their directors’ thresholds for zaniness. (Billy Wilder once said of Lemmon that he’s “a fine ham, and with ham you have to trim a little fat.") 

They’re also inherently likable. No one ever groaned when Lemmon strayed into the frame, and the same is true of Rudd. Their presence in a scene is a promise of transcendence; whether it’s a big laugh or a thrown away gesture, the potential is there for a moment you’ll be savoring the rest of your days.

So why isn’t Rudd a movie star of Lemmon’s magnitude? In the ‘60s and ‘70s, he would’ve absolutely battled Lemmon, George Segal and Charles Grodin for the nebbishy lead roles in some of the greatest comedies ever made (e.g. "The Apartment," "Blume in Love" and "The Heartbreak Kid"). In the present day, Rudd gets his share of leading roles (he’s Marvel’s Ant-Man after all) but seems content to appear in ensemble efforts where he’s encouraged to indulge his inner, indefatigable goofball. 

In a 2012 interview for David Wain’s hugely underrated "Wanderlust," Rudd explained that he doesn’t strategize role to role as other actors might do. "'Here's one where I play the everyman who gets f****d over and is trying to navigate his way through it … I should look for the serial killer role next. I should really shake it up!' That's probably smart, but I don't think I've ever been wired that way. I'm just like, 'That was a f*****g blast. Oh cool! I'm doing another one with all my friends! This is fun!'"

Why begrudge Rudd his fun when the performances are so consistently delightful regardless of screen time or the overall quality of the film? Whether he’s riffing on Elliott Gould’s Trapper John in Duncan Jones’s noble misfire "Mute" or reuniting with his camp buddies in the increasingly bizarre iterations of "Wet Hot American Summer," Rudd appears to be having the time of his life — the sole exception of late being his understated portrayal of Boston Red Sox catcher Moe Berg in the WWII drama "The Catcher Was a Spy." 

The true-life story of a Jewish intellectual/professional ballplayer who goes behind enemy lines to extract information on Germany’s nuclear weapons program offered Rudd the chance to "shake it up" in a manner that might’ve garnered awards consideration. But the film stays at a frustrating remove from its enigmatic protagonist; Rudd’s performance is almost entirely internal, and the screenplay provides him few opportunities to probe beneath Berg’s placid exterior.

Rudd may one day get his "Missing," but the most interesting use of his particular skills might be a role that traps him in a no-win situation where his restlessness and gift for comedic invention are turned against him — basically, a character like George Madison in James L. Brooks’ "How Do You Know." As a young executive hung out to dry by his corrupt father (Jack Nicholson), Rudd flits from immensely sympathetic to absolutely pathetic several times in a single scene. 

He needs someone in his corner, and he’s latched onto the equally vulnerable Lisa Jorgenson (Reese Witherspoon), who just learned her softball career has reached an abrupt end. George’s competition for Lisa’s affection is Matty Richards (Owen Wilson), a star pitcher for the Washington Nationals — i.e. George is no competition at all. 

It’s a fascinatingly imbalanced love triangle — one that works primarily due to Rudd’s frantic charm. Before George gets shuffled off to prison, he has to build himself up from a pitiable creature to a man deserving of love. Rudd’s never been afraid to look ridiculous or pathetic, but he’s rarely been given the space to be this heartbreakingly human.

Please do not take this as a plea for Rudd to rein in the freak show that’s accounted for most of his career highlights to date. The cinema would be considerably poorer absent his protracted cafeteria clean-up scene in "Wet Hot American Summer" or his infidelity psych-up in "Wanderlust" or the several-beats-too-long "Tell me about it/You can say that again" sequence in "They Came Together." 

There’s an alternate reality where Rudd became one of the greatest actors of the American stage and screen. He may yet get there. But I’m elated that I got to live in the timeline where he boasted about his "erection selection" on his path to thespian glory.