Paul

Paul arrives as a peculiar artifact of early 2010s progressive sensibilities, a film so earnest in its desire to challenge conservative American values that it mistakes preachiness for satire. The eponymous alien, voiced by Seth Rogen, functions less as a comedic character than as a philosophical avatar, existing primarily to deliver lectures about sexual liberation, atheism, and the folly of religious faith to a Christian woman who must be deprogrammed for her own good. The film treats this conversion narrative with the gravity typically reserved for actual moral instruction, never quite grasping that the audience might find the heavy-handedness amusing rather than persuasive.

What distinguishes Paul from more nuanced progressive storytelling is its refusal to engage with actual complexity. The Christian character exists not to challenge the film's worldview but to validate it through her eventual capitulation. Paul himself is bisexual, a detail presented as evidence of his moral and intellectual superiority rather than simply part of who he is. The aliens have evolved beyond such petty concerns as monogamy and religious constraint, you understand, and their wisdom must be imparted to the simple earthlings. The film wraps this missionary zeal in a road comedy wrapper, but the mechanics remain transparent: watch as enlightenment is dispensed by a wisecracking extraterrestrial.

The supporting cast, including Kristen Wiig and Bill Hader as comic relief government agents, functions within this framework of moral instruction. There is no genuine disagreement, only varying degrees of ignorance to be overcome. By the standards of 2011, this represented a certain boldness, a willingness to mock religious faith and heteronormative assumptions in a mainstream comedy. By the standards of actual social consciousness, it represents something closer to a tract, dressed up in CGI and road-trip hijinks. The film means well, which may be the most damning thing we can say about it.