As Good as It Gets

The film opens with a man throwing a small, innocent dog down a garbage chute. It is a bold, borderline suicidal move for a romantic comedy protagonist, but when that man is Jack Nicholson, you stay in your seat to see if he can crawl out of the moral basement. My cat actually tried to bat at the screen during this scene, and frankly, her indignation felt like the perfect accompaniment to Melvin Udall’s general aura of misery. I watched this most recent time while eating a slightly stale bagel, which felt like a very Melvin-coded breakfast, though I lacked his commitment to bringing my own plastic silverware to the deli.

In the late 90s, we were in a sweet spot for "adult movies" that weren't about superheroes or world-ending asteroids. As Good as It Gets is the crown jewel of that era—a film where the stakes are purely emotional, the dialogue is sharper than a chef’s knife, and the hero is, quite frankly, a nightmare. Melvin Udall is essentially a high-functioning human dumpster fire who happens to write best-selling romance novels. He’s got OCD, a hair-trigger temper, and enough bigotry to fill a stadium, yet director James L. Brooks somehow convinces us to root for his rehabilitation.

The Master of the Misanthrope

The heavy lifting here is done by a trio of performances that feel like lightning in a bottle. Jack Nicholson won an Oscar for this, and it’s easy to see why. He manages to make the "ticks"—the door locking, the sidewalk-crack skipping, the soap discarding—feel like a prison rather than a gimmick. But it’s his mouth that does the real damage. When he tells a woman she’s "a great credit to her species," you can feel the air leave the room.

Opposite him is Helen Hunt as Carol, the only waitress at the local diner with the intestinal fortitude to serve him. Hunt provides the film’s soul; she isn’t just a "love interest," she’s a mother drowning in medical bills for her son (Jesse James), and she doesn’t have the time or the patience for Melvin’s nonsense. Their chemistry isn't the "love at first sight" variety; it’s more of a "slow-motion car crash where both drivers eventually decide to go for coffee" vibe.

Then there’s Greg Kinnear as Simon, the gay artist neighbor who becomes the catalyst for Melvin’s forced evolution after a brutal assault leaves him broken and bankrupt. Kinnear is the secret weapon here, providing a vulnerability that balances Nicholson’s aggression. Watching Melvin reluctantly care for Simon’s dog, Verdell, is the kind of manipulative cinema I usually roll my eyes at, but it works because the film doesn't pretend a dog solves clinical OCD.

The 90s Recipe for Success

Looking back, it’s wild to realize how much of a juggernaut this was. With a $50 million budget—most of which I assume went to Nicholson’s salary and the sheer amount of soap they used—it raked in over $300 million. We don't see those numbers for character-driven dramas anymore. This was the era of the "Prestige Blockbuster," where a script by James L. Brooks and Mark Andrus could dominate the box office just by being clever.

The production was famously meticulous. Brooks reportedly spent a year in the editing room, and it shows in the pacing. Despite being nearly two and a half hours, it never feels bloated. It also features a score by Hans Zimmer (working on The Lion King and Gladiator) that is surprisingly light and whimsical, proving the man can do more than just BWAAAAPH-style bass drops.

One of my favorite "stuff you didn't notice" details involves the dog. It turns out they used six different Brussels Griffons to play Verdell, and the actors had to keep pieces of bacon hidden in their pockets or behind their ears to get the dog to look at them with that wide-eyed devotion. Simon’s dog has more emotional range than half the cast of most modern blockbusters, and knowing the "devotion" was actually "bacon-lust" only makes the performance more impressive.

The Verdict on the DVD Shelf

I remember when the DVD for this was a staple of every collection, right next to Jerry Maguire and The Matrix. It’s a film that reveals its era through its sincerity. It deals with homophobia, healthcare crises, and mental health in a way that feels very 1997—sometimes a bit clumsy, but always deeply earnest.

> "I'm reaching high. I'm buried in the middle of a fly-over state, and I'm looking for a hero."

That line from Simon hits differently now. In a digital age where we’re all siloed in our own versions of Melvin’s apartment, the idea of three deeply different, broken people being forced into a car for a road trip feels almost radical. It reminds me that growth isn't about becoming a perfect person; it’s just about being slightly less of a jerk than you were yesterday.

This is the kind of movie that makes me miss the 90s mid-budget miracle. It’s funny, it’s mean, and it eventually earns its heart without sugarcoating the fact that the protagonist is a colossal pain in the neck. If you haven't seen it in a decade, give it a rewatch. It’s a masterclass in how to write characters who are allowed to be unlikeable, which is a luxury modern cinema rarely affords us anymore.