"I’d really like to shake Adam Sandler’s hand and congratulate him for going so far with such a complete lack of talent."
-My father
Perhaps my dad was being a little too harsh. He admits to not having seen either Punch-Drunk Love or Spanglish, two films where Sandler does an excellent job. On the other hand, he did sit through The Waterboy and The Longest Yard, as well as having caught snippets of Big Daddy, Mr. Deeds, and Anger Management, all films that could be blared on loudspeakers in order to force drug barons to leave their mansions during a police siege. I really like the subdued version of Sandler that has occasionally been put to good use, but when the trailer of Click involves more than one joke where he brutalizes his antagonists, I didn’t get my hopes up.
Click centers on Michael, another one of Sandler’s "Man-Boy" asshole characters, as he receives an all-powerful remote control from the Angel of Death (Christopher Walken) in order to teach him a lesson about life (which is a real gyp, because when the Angel of Death came to me, all he did was tell me to stop firing my Glock in the air at birthday parties). Point this remote at things and hit buttons such as Pause, Fast Forward, and even Commentary, and the remote manipulates reality to your liking. I’d call it a Bruce Almighty rip-off if it weren’t for the fact that Click has the exact same writers ("Self plagiarism is style" said Alfred Hitchcock). Like Bruce Almigthy, it gives the hero God-like powers, only for his most clever use of them to involve taking pleasure out of large breasts. Seriously, are men such pathetic creatures that with the whole world in the palm of their hand, all they can do are manipulate boobs? That would only be number three on my list, after wronging those who wronged me and robbing a federal bank.
Alas, along with the boobs, Michael has other plans in mind. His Gorgeous Patient But Weary Wife (Kate Beckinsale, really hard to watch in this crap after her ultra-cool performance in Underworld Evolution) nags him about missed time with the kids, which he promptly zips through, as well as skipping all of the boring parts of domestic life, like foreplay. At work, Evil Dickhead Boss (David Hasselhoff, Lord knows why) stiffs Michael on his promotion, which denotes that he be paused, beaten, and then, te-hee, have bodily functions set off well within his personal space bubble. It strikes me as odd that our borderline psychotic hero has no trouble physically injuring his enemies, but never seems to contemplate simply stealing from them.
The humor remains unapologetically stupid throughout, and the film should have a treasured place at 8th grade slumber parties. Gags ridiculing foreigners, fat people, the elderly are doled out in spades to supplement the several hundred requisite penis and sex jokes. Don’t his fans tire of this repetitive cruelty, the insistence on cramming every stupid joke down our throats from start to finish? Apparently not, because while these films easily break $100 million, Punch-Drunk Love, which seriously examines the Sandler archetype, didn’t crack $20 million.
Surprisingly, the one area that the film touches a nerve is the final quarter, where the remote control starts fast-forwarding through all of the moments Michael has taken for granted. Throughout all of the awkwardly schmaltzy scenes where he bemoans ever trying to zip through life with no downside, he does manage to touch on a nerve. Our time here is finite, and we would be best advised to take pleasure in the smaller moments, even when they don’t seem spectacular. Case in point, even when sitting through another Sandler-catastrophe, there is a bit of joy to be had. Just a bit.
1.5 out of 5
3 comments:
Good afternoon,
Well, I really need to get SOME work done today, but your lucid comments urge me to write what I intend to be a quick note; we'll see.
As I was writing my comments to you this morning, I felt the nervous, itchy need to check out my original comments; I didn't, and it shows. As you pointed out, I believe they were a bit arch themselves. Touche.
But my scolding that blanket dismissals leave no room for argument might still stand. Of course we can agree to disagree, but I still think when you paint your opponent as a dope, you are under no further compunction to treat him otherwise. Of course, in our exchange today none of that is going on; but I still maintain that generalizations, no matter how witty, simply cut off communication. What we've been up to today is much more to my liking.
By the way, I have a great affection for both Kongs. (plug: see my April 4 and 5 postings) And I actually liked Nacho Libre (6/27). None of these, though, are "reviews"; I've pretty much decided my blog would be more autobiographical and impressionistic. But I hope also audience-friendly.
And once I stop writing to you, I'll make time for reading you. I'm eager to explore the critical sensibilities of someone who would consider Jackson's Kong the best picture of the year. I would almost agree, but, as it should be evident by now, I (try) to maintain a commitment to breadth, so I hesitate to pick a "best"; again, though, Kong is a wonderful thing. I actually own it--which is odd for me. I'd rather Netflix everything; those boxes on the shelf seem to gather dust pretty easily. But I just watched Kong again. Not even my 13-yr-old son wanted to, but like LOTR, it seems to have more heft than the usual FX spectaculars. I'm curious to read your take.
That's really it for now. Thanks again for visiting, and for your thoughtful words.
Paul J. Marasa
What a surprise, Mr. "I'm better at arguing than you" needs to write another rude response.
OK, arguing, usually involves more critique than just constantly calling "Over-generalization." There is a classic logical fallacy known as "Ad-homenim." He sees that we are younger than him, which automaitically makes him smarter than us and he simply must prove to the whole world, or at least any of James's friends who read his blog, that he is smarter than James.
This little back and forth is no different than what goes on in the office place when one guy makes a mistake, and some other guy writes a mean-spirited letter or e-mail to him to oust him for his mistake, then forwards that note to the boss so the mean-spirited guy can get that promotion. The difference here is no mistake has been made and there is nothing to prove.
This is just some guy with personal issues who needs to make himself feel better.
James,
I forgot to mention that I really enjoyed reading your review of the movie "Click." I always enjoy that really sarcastic humor, like manipulatning boobs would be #3 on your list (or is that a half-truth :-) ), or not firing your glock into the air at birthday parties!
Post a Comment