From Manchild To Mensch: Adam Sandler Is America’s Dad Now

What’s a hero these days? I doubt we could agree on one. Not politicians, certainly not police officers; not even the superheroes who grace our screens large and small but are too impressive—too moral, too computer-generated, and just too freaking big—to be genuinely relatable. In looking for a hero for the people, the only person who comes to mind is Adam Sandler. When Sandler came into our lives 27 years ago with Billy Madison, no one could have predicted he would be one of the last stars standing, but he is now the rare actor who can generate widespread interest in a project with his name alone, and he’s actually getting better with age. In his latest dramatic films, 2019’s Uncut Gems and the new Netflix film Hustle, he has morphed into that rarest of film performers who can be transformative if the role calls for it, or simply be himself, and be transfixing either way. He has grown into an actor of undeniable talent and surprising maturity, and his journey from manchild to mensch should give hope to us all.

These traits aren’t new to Sandler, who has always possessed a gift for characters and a charisma that could uplift the flimsiest of premises. We saw it on Saturday Night Live, when he became a star off of silly songs about sweatshirts and Thanksgiving, or as a Weekend Update correspondent making Halloween costumes out of household items. In these sketches, the laugh doesn’t really come from the jokes; it’s in how he gets you to laugh along with him at how ridiculous the bit is. Early in his film career, he used the same trick to win over audiences in Billy Madison, Happy Gilmore, and Big Daddy (the popularity of The Waterboy remains inexplicable to this writer). The jokes in these films weren’t revelatory, but Sandler’s everyman appeal and ease in front of the camera won the day. 

Even as his comedy career was accelerating, he always had his eye on the dramatic lane. His attempts at serious drama were viewed with admiration, but the results were spotty. Paul Thomas Anderson tried to write a typical Sandler comedy and ended up with the surrealist Punch-Drunk Love, an excellent film that nonetheless asks little of Sandler that he hadn’t done before, and instead merely approaches his persona from a fresh angle. The same could be said of Funny People, in which longtime Sandler buddy Judd Apatow cast the comic star as a thinly veiled version of himself. For a long time, that was the best you could hope for from an Adam Sandler drama. He tried deeper characterization in Reign Over Me as a grieving 9/11 widower. It was roundly rejected by audiences and critics. The performance plays better now that we’re used to Sandler as a dramatic actor, but at the time, it was simply too big a leap for viewers.

That’s all changed now, as he has aged into a new dramatic archetype that suits his talents and resonates with audiences: the middle-aged sad sack desperately holding onto his vitality. “Guys in their fifties don’t have dreams,” he says in Hustle. “They have nightmares. And eczema.” In both Uncut Gems and Hustle, Sandler plays characters struggling to keep their lives afloat as the world crashes down around them. There are key distinctions between the characters: Howard Ratner from Uncut Gems creates his own problems—mostly, enormous debts to very serious people—and even when things turn out well, he is quick to screw it up again. Still, whenever he is faced with the end of the line, he keeps himself alive by refusing to linger on his failures. He doesn’t break down. He moves on, as there’s always another bet to make. Yes, he’s a degenerate, and his optimism is borne from tragic insecurity, but there’s also something inspiring about Howard. Here’s a guy on the verge of total self-destruction who is convinced his happy ending is just around the corner, and if he can muster such confidence, why can’t we? 

Steven Sugerman, Sandler’s character in Hustle, sounds like a character name from one of his earlier, broader comedies, but he’s actually one of the most down-to-earth characters he’s ever played. A scout for the Philadelphia 76ers, Stanley is suffering something like a midlife crisis, caught between his dream of coaching in the NBA and his steady job working under an antagonistic new team owner. Stanley’s problems aren’t really of his own making, so rooting for him is a simpler proposition than it is for Howard. But just like in Uncut Gems, the obstacles keep piling up, and as they do, we keep waiting for Sandler to break out into his trademark rage. He never does. He takes on bigger burdens and simply withstands the weight. Stanley keeps it together for the sake of his family and his sanity, which, in the context of Sandler’s career, seems like a turn towards maturity. He’s a guy who has overcome his impulse-control issues and become more even-tempered and reliable. In 2022, this feels like heroism.

In other words, Howard Ratner and Stanley Sugerman are real people, full of human contradictions, not like the outlandish buffoons Sandler used to play. They’re tragic and hilarious at once. Pathetic and courageous. Sandler can still make us laugh, but the jokes comes from the character, like when Howard’s nemesis appears at his door, and Howard cries out, “Oh, this fucking guy!” Or in Hustle at Stanley’s repeated attempts to come up with a cool nickname for his protege Bo Cruz (Juancho Hernangomez), which is really just an effort to make the big guy smile. His humor tilts towards dad jokes, but if the baggy shirt and comfortable pants fit, then wear ‘em. Sandler is America’s Dad now, gentle and unassuming, appreciated not for any outstanding talent but mostly for how he has just stuck around and slowly accrued enough gravitas to be seen as an authority. Live long enough, his career seems to teach, and you’ll become the person you always wanted to be and the hero the world needs. We’re living in the golden age of Adam Sandler, and that might be our saving grace. 

Noah Gittell (@noahgittell) is a culture critic from Connecticut who loves alliteration. His work can be found at The Atlantic, The Guardian, The Ringer, Washington City Paper, LA Review of Books, and others.