Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story
**1/2
Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story is a story that’s
been beaten to death every bit as badly as a Kenmore toddler (I’m
going to hell for that one): an everyday business owner/gang of schmoes
is under siege by corporate oppressors and has to win some sort of
competition in order to keep their hangout from becoming a parking
lot. It’s been done in such classics as Barbershops one and
two, not to m
ention
the funny-in-a-way-that-cannot-be-explained Good Burger. So
what makes Dodgeball any different than the countless movies
with the same ploy? The jokes and the talent involved. Dodgeball’s
not a world better than those movies, but Vince Vaughn has shown us
time and time again that he can be a funny guy in a very subtle way.
And God knows that we can’t get enough of Ben Stiller recycling the
same characters from his short-lived comedy sketch series from the
mid-‘90s “The Ben Stiller Show.” The jokes are pretty funny, but Dodgeball’s
nothing to rush out and see. I tried to sneak a dodgeball into the
theater, but the usher sent me into a time-out until the previews
came on. So I came back with another one later in the afternoon and
beaned him in the head with it when she wasn’t looking and booked.
It’s a short life kids, you’ve got to get your kicks where you can…
Around the World in 80 Days
No Stars
There are definitely some movie-going tasks that I look
forward to more than others. To take the sting out of past assignments,
I’ve used tools such as six packs in parking lots, smuggled flasks,
and I’ve even implemented cough syrup on occasion. But for Around
the World in 80 Days, I knew I was going to need something considerably
stronger. LSD seemed like a viable option. I haven’t done it since
high school. It was too easy to have a bad time on it and required
a controlled environment to avoid freaking out, but I’m a much diff
erent
person now. It was a guarantee that I couldn’t fall asleep during
the movie (or for eight hours after). I timed my three hits just right
and it was blastoff right as the movie started. Unfortunately, the
movie was too grand a job for our hallucinogenic friend to tackle,
because Around the World in 80 Days still sucked. There were
some very interesting parts, though. For example, whenever Jackie
Chan spoke in his classic incomprehensibly mushmouthed fashion, I
was hit by a tidal wave of both fear and giddiness simultaneously.
I then realized that Chan was my friend, and there was a specific
reason he was making all of these terrible movies, and he will share
it me when the time is right. I also found the knife-fight between
Jimmy Stewart and Haley Joel Osment incredibly gripping. I thought
it was a little trite when Cindy Crawford and William Baldwin reprised
their characters from the 1995 turkey Fair Game, but people
can’t get enough of a classic I guess. The army-of-inflatable-sex-dolls-lead-by-Al
Franken scene had a lot of potential, but it was paced pretty poorly
and the sequence was too choppily edited. Ultimately, it took away
from the movie. But if I had to name something that freaked me out
the most or had me rolling in stitches (because frankly when you’re
on that crap, isn’t it all the same thing?), I’d say that seeing Arnold
Schwarzenegger as a Jheri-curled sheik with a harem. I still can’t
make the distinction as to whether I laughed or cringed at it, but
all I know is that I can never have the same experience watching this
movie ever again. And that makes me sad.
The Terminal
**
We get it. Tom Hanks is a great actor. He’s one of two
actors in film history that got the best actor Oscar two years in
a row. He’s played a convincing retard, an AIDS patient, a killer
for the mob, and hell, he’s even carried on conversations with a goddamned
volleyball on a deserted island for Christ’s sake! Now, to flex his
acting muscle, he’s playing an immigrant from a fictitious country
who has to live in an airport due to political reasons and a technicality
in security policies. He goes from a penniless traveler who can only
ask where to get a pair of Nikes to a likable slob who warms the hearts
of airport workers and security alike. And to that I have two words:
sentime
ntal
bullshit. The Terminal is based loosely (you know, Madonna
circa 1992 loose) on a true story of a European immigrant who had
the option to leave the airport after a few days, but opted to live
in the airport for a few months because he was a goddamned nut. Director
Steven Spielberg made a nice-looking movie, but he took a vaguely
interesting story and made it as tedious as a conversation with a
speed freak. It’s nowhere near as clever as Catch Me If You Can
and nowhere nearly as interesting as anything else he’s ever done.
Stevie’s been on a roll over the last few years, but it had to end
sometime. Also along for the ride is Welsh baby factory and necrophiliac
Catherine Zeta Jones as a love interest/stewardess screwing a married
man and Stanley Tucci as the evil head of security. The Terminal
also features Mr. Littlejeans from the far superior film Rushmore.
I didn’t pay a dime to see The Terminal, so I can’t complain
too much. But the highlight of the night was seeing Jeff Simon’s doughy
ass run around like a complete and total pussy when the projectionist
didn’t have the movie centered on the screen at the opening scene.
I would pay to see any movie, regardless of how bad it looks, if I
could witness that sight again.
The Chronicles of Riddick
*
(Actor plays himself, evil genius, impossible science,
special effects circle jerk, likable thug, talented actor makes bad
choice)
About
this time in the year 2000, I walked out of the theater after watching
Pitch lack Black. I came down from a monster buzz about
halfway through the movie. Laughter at Vin Diesel’s voicebox-like
delivery gave way to merciless ridicule to the rehashed plot. It was
a ripoff of a formula that horror legend George Romero made famous
with zombies. The zombies were now nocturnal aliens, and even after
paying $1.50 I felt ripped off. My only consolation was in watching
a steroid-pumped human/antelope hybrid attempting to act like a badass
(or even worse—the next Schwarzenegger). Needless to say, the thought,
“this story needs to go on” wasn’t running through my head. Over the
years, I saw said mutant play the same pumped-up character. I’d silently
giggled to myself every time a cheesy girl with no taste or a gay
man with thoughts of defilement on the brain talked about how hot
he is. Now we’re at a point where an unmemorable movie is followed
up with an effects-laden even more forgettable piece of shit. Diesel
returns as Richard Riddick (great name, which could’ve only come from
a phone book) to stop the Necromongers, an imperialistic race that
came from an H.R. Geiger wet dream. It’s all horrible dialogue (seriously,
it’s like someone puked on a page and started sending it out to agents),
special effects, and fights that are slightly impressive, but as the
movie goes on bore worse than a diamond-tipped drill bit to the temple.
If you like your entertainment as dumb as your women, you shouldn’t
be disappointed, but if you’re looking for something more—keep looking.
When I walked out of Chronicles of Ridicule Riddick,
the only thought I had running through my head was, “what the fuck
was Judi Dench doing in this piece of shit?”
The Stepford Wives
**
(Actor plays himself, evil genius, impossible science,
mindfuck, talented actor, crappy remake)
My
uncle (by marriage) from South Buffalo movedto the suburbs with my
aunt after their wedding. He’d periodically say, “it’s like the fuckin’
Stepford Wives out here.” All I knew about it was that it was
supposed to be a horror movie. So one day, I was curious enough to
see what the hell he was talking about and rented the 1975 version
of The Stepford Wives. When I was done viewing it, I got his
joke, but I didn’t get scared. It was a dull and dated commentary
on feminism, the equivalent of someone telling you a lengthy joke
and botching the punchline. Not a good movie. Cut to a couple of months
ago. I saw a preview for the remake. I rolled my eyes at the thought
of another remake, but was thankful that they weren’t remaking a classic.
After sitting through the remake directed by Frank Oz (aka Yoda, Grover,
Miss Piggy etc.), I realized that remakes aren’t an entirely bad thing.
This remake leans toward comedy as opposed to the original’s horror
slant making it slightly more enjoyable than the original. The remake
dates itself just as badly, but ditches the bra-burning commentary
that the original pushed. It’s the story of a husband and wife who
move to a seemingly perfect New England town only to discover that
everything’s not quite right. Nicole Kidman, Glenn Close (in a movie
that’s frankly beneath them), and Christopher Walken (in his patented
creepy style) are vaguely enjoyable and even Bette Midler did a decent
job acting as the obnoxious neighbor (oh wait, she wasn’t acting—never
mind) But if it seems like I’m letting the remake of The Stepford
Wives off the hook, don’t worry. The silliness and wannabe wittiness
get old pretty quick and you soon realize that a remake’s still a
remake, and you’re watching a Martha Stewart episode that never aired.
I’d say that the best thing about The Stepford Wives is that
it’ll get you into an air-conditioned theater if there’s absolutely
nothing else good up and you don’t know anybody with a pool. A guy
with the longest nose hair I’ve ever seen or imagined tried to tell
me that the original’s a true classic and therefore better than the
remake. I couldn’t really counter his point because I was hypnotized
by his lack of grooming, but in retrospect, it’s a point not really
worth arguing. That would kind of be like arguing who would be a better
lay—Joan Rivers or Melissa Rivers? Nobody wins, EVERYBODY loses…
Garfield the Movie
**
Did this really need to happen? Bill Murray falls off
the wagon after one of the most impressive comebacks in film history
as the voice of Garfield, that fat orange cat with an attitude from
the comics section of any given newspaper. Frankly, I’d expect this
sort of 
thing
from Breckin Meyer and Jennifer Love Hewitt, but Bill Murray? He survived
Larger Than Life, so I imagine he’ll live through this. Garfield
suffers from the same problem that Cat in the Hat and The
Grinch Who Stole Christmas suffer from. They’re making a 90-minute
movie out of something that you can finish while on the toilet. “Garfield”
takes you ten seconds to read and you don’t laugh half the time anyway.
There are few laughs, but at least every animal in the movie wasn’t
computer animated. And most of the actors who lent their voices probably
went for it because they didn’t have to show their faces. The lines
aren’t any crappier than they are in the comic, so if you’re a fan
of the comic and aren’t being emotionally blackmailed into seeing
it, you shouldn’t be too disappointed.
