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Good Fortune, the whimsical comedy by actor Aziz Ansari, is facing challenges at the box office. Several reasons could account for the film's reception: Its uninspired name doesn't express its film's distinctive charm. The screenplay can be moralizing and obvious with the messages. Its acting are flat and staged, like the actors are reading lines directly from a script. Moreover, it arrives at a time marked by financial uncertainty and inequality, which could render audiences less open to a story that implies wealthy individuals enjoy all the benefits while those in need possess spirit.

However, this is what Good Fortune stands out: It's unique, bold, imaginative, frequently funny, and undoubtedly timely. And, it offers an unexpectedly great the actor hangout movie.

Keanu Reeves as an Guardian: His Typical Portrayal

Personally, I've never regarded Keanu Reeves to be a strong actor. The actor's flat speaking style and consistent look of slight concern have always seemed limited, despite the broad variety of roles he has taken on over the past 40 of his career. Smart filmmakers have placed Reeves in parts in which that stoic nature works ideally, including his early work to The Matrix to John Wick. But nearly every one of these roles called for him to seem tough, closed-off, or removed.

Throughout the film, Reeves plays Gabriel, a low-level guardian celestial being assigned with watching over people that use their phones when behind the wheel. His entire job is sitting in their cars and gently touching their shoulders as they are about to have an accident, warning the person so they brake in time. But, when positioned overlooking the city, looking down on the mortal world like a version of the angel in Wim Wenders' renowned film the angel story, the character gets aspirational. He wants to become an exceptional guardian and a savior of wayward individuals.

A Surprising Turn: Reeves as a Human

Therefore, Gabriel presents his presence to struggling odd-jobber Arj (portrayed by Aziz Ansari), who is residing out of a vehicle and cursing his situation. Gabriel proceeds to exchanges the man into the existence of stupidly wealthy tech mogul Jeff (played by the comedian). This point behind the experiment is for the character to understand the wealthy man's life comes with major downsides, and gratefully go back to his own life, much like a character in the classic film.

Problem was, the character right away realizes how Jeff's issues (boring appointments, expensive heating bill) prove negligible and easily solved with money. He further sees that becoming affluent opens up limitless chances for self-indulgent enjoyment. The character has no desire in going back to his own situation, and Gabriel can't compel Arj to return. Then, more trouble arrives: Because of exceeding his duties and disrupting the order of the world, the character is fired from his celestial job, and turned into a mortal.

The Revelation: The Actor Grins

Personally, I remained not persuaded by the actor as an celestial being with grand dreams and an intense desire to effect change. Reeves delivers the same somewhat stiff acting he's been providing for at least the last 3 ten-year periods. Watching him in the role of angel who's just turned mortal for the first time, on the other hand, was a blast, for a reason that truly surprised viewers initially: This is an element new for Reeves. Or perhaps to be precise, something from the past.

Early during his baffling experience being a mortal, clinging to the wealthy character (whom Gabriel exchanged into the handyman's hand-to-mouth life and jobless status), Gabriel begins hesitantly trying out everyday experiences like eating and consuming meals. Then Reeves smiles. Authentically, cautiously, happily beams. (It's far more believable than his smile shown in the promotional image, which looks artificially added.)

The Reason This Smile Matters

The moment really surprised me to realize just how unexpected and welcome the smile was. When did we last audiences observed the actor smile in a film where he was not showing malice, irony, or bitterness? He likely attempts it somewhere in 2020's misbegotten Bill & Ted Face the Music, however I'm not revisiting the disappointment to confirm. Reeves has been typecast with serious, violent, broody, or just serious characters for so long that just seeing Reeves grin felt like observing an entirely different actor.

While the plot progresses, the character finds himself needing to take a dishwashing position, a role that fails to provide enough to live on, and he starts smoking heavily due to frustration. Just the sight of Reeves in a cheap paper restaurant cap, with his recent signature long hair tied in a plain ponytail, leaning against a wall and puffing on a cigarette, is worthy of watching. His dishwasher getup totally changes his appearance and body: Suddenly, the lean, well-dressed physical powerhouse of the John Wick films is awkward, ordinary, and a lot increasingly human.

The Pleasure of Watching Reeves Loosen Up

Good Fortune is not consistently enjoyable to view, particularly when the director (who additionally authored the script) has to find believable reasons for {Ar