Paternity suits him

Efficiency expert Frank Allen (Ryan Reynolds) tries to let his whims determine his destiny in the dramedy Chaos Theory. (Doug Curran/Warner Bros. Pictures)

The concept of chance is an attractive one for us mortals. Chance is what gets folks hooked on gambling and those old-school gumball machines that spit out toys. A nifty strategy for shirking the pesky burden of free will and accountability, going with the flow is arguably one of the cornerstones of religion. Why make a plan when the fates (or some divine force) will put the pieces in place anyway?

Chance is also at the heart of great comedy. The hilarity of good improv stems from watching comics contend with the unscripted. And what are As You Like It or A Midsummer Night’s Dream if not a series of accidental run-ins, with antics that ensue from random combinations of misguided fools?

The premise that drives Chaos Theory — anal-retentive guy decides to follow whim, chance, chaos — seems like a solid enough basis for a decent comedic film. Frank Allen (Ryan Reynolds) doesn’t believe that the best-laid plans can go awry. A certified efficiency expert, he earns his keep on the lecture circuit, teaching time-management seminars to frazzled workers. His days are portioned off in activity-sized capsules (neatly jotted on index cards), and his reputation is cemented by best-selling self-help tomes; Frank’s the kind of character who’d make a cameo on an Oprah episode titled Organize Your Space; Organize Your Life!

Intending to mess with Frank’s regimented mind, his wife, Susan (Emily Mortimer), decides to set clocks in their house ahead 15 minutes. Somehow, she accidentally sets them back. Though innocent, Susan’s prank sets off an avalanche of mishaps. First, Frank misses the ferry on his commute, which makes him late for a presentation, which leads him to drown his sorrows in a hotel bar. Through the sort of domino effect that only occurs in screwball comedies and hapless melodramas, Frank eventually finds himself implicated as a stranger’s baby daddy. And that’s not even the biggest revelation.

Shaken and stirred, his marriage in shambles, Frank decides his lifelong guiding principle is bogus. Throwing caution to the wind, he feverishly makes a list of instant-gratification goals on a stack of index cards and starts shuffling. Hilarity — or something like it — ensues! See Frank, bedraggled and boozy, get into a bar fight! See Frank, grizzled and hungover, buy a bitchin’ motorcycle! See Frank, his heart smashed to pieces, plan a murder-suicide! Ha ha ha…oh.

Frank (Ryan Reynolds, centre) finds a new use for cue cards in Chaos Theory. (Doug Curran/Warner Bros. Pictures)

By this point, it’s clear director Marcos Siega has taken his theme too far; the tone ricochets wildly. He and screenwriter Daniel Taplitz seem unsure of what kind of movie they’re making. It’s a problem that bogged down Siega’s 2005 dark comedy Pretty Persuasion, a film that aspired to be the next Election or Heathers but frequently forgot the “comedy” half of the equation. Given a lighter touch, Chaos Theory could’ve been a feel-good trifle about a guy who, unfettered by the shackles of obligation, stumbles upon his true self. Cue montage of our protagonist living his wildest dreams! (Of course, then it might’ve been dreck like The Bucket List.)

For his part, Reynolds fields every curveball he’s thrown. Bearish and bleary-eyed, he paints a convincing portrait of a man whose entire life and philosophy have been overturned. His tics are believable without being irritating; he manifests excruciating angst without chewing scenery. And in the scenes where Reynolds is called on to play broad comedy, he pulls it off without losing sight of the gaping wound of his freshly broken heart.

The supporting cast is less successful, though not for lack of trying. Mortimer, who navigated the delicate tonal balance in Lars and the Real Girl, comes off as slightly shrewish and pathetic while Scottish actor Stuart Townsend, as Frank’s caddish best friend, seems preoccupied with simply maintaining a passable American accent. (In the more emotional scenes, his burr bursts through.)

Their fumbles can be partly blamed on the fact that Chaos Theory is one of those films where none of the characters manage to express what’s really bugging them. At one point, Frank confronts his wife about a suspected betrayal. Frank glares at her accusingly, tells her he “knows all about it” (about what, she wonders) and then flees. The only character who speaks openly about her feelings is Frank’s seven-year-old daughter, Jesse. Sweetly underplayed by young Matreya Fedor, she and Reynolds provide the film’s most believable relationship. The real reason Frank is so devastated by the collapse of his nuclear family is that, beyond his cue cards and PowerPoint plans, the guy is invested in being a father. Not just that, he’s good at it. In an early scene, he leaves the cozy nest of his marital bed to sneak up to the frigid attic with Jesse so the two can wish on the rising sun. It’s a bit gooey, but Reynolds is disarming enough to cut the cloying factor.

Watching Reynolds in that paternal role is the main reason to see Chaos Theory. Following on the heels of Definitely Maybe, this film marks his official shift from glad-handing bro to mature adult. Contrary to what Peter Pan, Judd Apatow and the canon of Ashton Kutcher would have you believe, there comes a time when even the most puerile man-child has to grow up. While Reynolds’s early career was founded on his ability to play the smarmy, immature lout-with-a-good-heart, since 2005 — when he played the patriarch of a terrorized brood in the Amityville Horror remake — he has assumed the mantle of big-screen alternadad. As Chaos Theory threatens to fall to bits around him, Reynolds’s commitment to the role keeps it all together.

Chaos Theory opens April 11.

Sarah Liss writes about the arts for CBCNews.ca.

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