“C” Rating by Robert W. Hammerle

My daughter-in-law, Tania, shares my love of movies. By definition, both of us are rather easily entertained. However, by her own admission, she can find merit in such silly films as “Fool’s Gold” (2008) and “P.S. I Love You” (2007), something I cannot do. That’s not meant as a criticism -— Hell, it might be a compliment!

I call films like these “Tania’s,” namely movies that involve just enough romance that they disguise the otherwise sophomoric nature of the plot. At the clear risk of sounding sexist, these films tend to break down on gender lines, with young women clearly finding them more tolerable than men.

I point this out because “Seven Pounds” is a “Tania.” While it is blatantly manipulative and incongruous beyond belief, it is in the end a weepy. Unfortunately, while I am frequently moved to tears in the theater, I didn’t come close to doing so here. Sorry, Tania, but I sense that you and I are going to part company with this one.

While no one can remotely describe the plot without giving up critical information that will telegraph the ending, this is one of those strange films that might actually benefit from such audacity. Either way I doubt that it will matter, as “Seven Pounds” is one of the most self-righteous films ever made. It is pompous and pious beyond belief.

Something is going on with Will Smith, and it is not good. But no matter how you describe it, it is clear that he is developing a Messianic complex.

It is not enough for him to play the hero, as now he must also be a savior. In the self-satisfied “The Pursuit of Happiness,” he was the perfect devoted father. In “Hancock,” he is an alcoholic superhero who is out to save mankind. And I’m not even counting his son who actually did save the world in “The Day the Earth Stood Still.”

Now, in “Seven Pounds,” Smith is a tormented man who is out on the saintly mission of self-sacrifice in order to save kindly, suffering people. Jesus Christ himself cannot measure up to Smith’s Ben Thomas.

Quite frankly, the only thing missing is for Smith to declare himself to be the true Son of God. You want miracles, well Smith’s got a pocket full. Who wants to mess with pedestrian examples of turning water into wine when you can make the blind see?

Yet, as smarmy and self-indulgent as “Seven Pounds” is, it is saved from a place on the worst films of 2008 by an admittedly moving ending. The reason is Rosario Dawson, whose authentic performance as a young artist in need of a heart transplant left many in the audience wiping their eyes.

Nonetheless, any movie that is so utterly incomprehensible that you literally have to be told what is going on during its climax is a sell-out on its face. Add to that the feeling that Smith was exploiting Dawson as he romantically sucked her in and you are left with a film where the only thing lacking was Mr. Smith rising from the dead.

Maybe that will be the premise of the sequel.