Thursday, July 31, 2003
Copyright © Las Vegas Mercury

Film: The death of romance

Sophomoric gags put cement shoes on Gigli

Katharine Hepburn's lucky she died a month ago. Because Gigli would've killed her as surely as it murders romance. Garbo and Gilbert, Bogey and Bacall, Hepburn and Tracy, Burton and Taylor--the great screen couples are all ancient cinematic relics now. And despite what Hollywood hypemeisters would have you believe, off-screen lovers Ben and J.Lo have neither the chemistry nor the class to become their worthy heirs.

In Martin Brest's "romantic comedy," mobster Lenny Venito hires "contractors" Affleck and Lopez to strongarm a federal prosecutor by kidnapping his mentally-challenged brother (gifted newcomer Justin Bartha).

Not only does Gigli (pronounced "Gee-Lee" and named not for the legendary tenor, Beniamino, but Affleck's numbskull character, Larry Gigli) have the second-worst title of the year, after the Sandra Bullocky 28 Days Later. Brest's bizarre mix of contrived gangster scenario and offensive, Rain Moron retarded sidekick comedy is nothing but a variation on that hoary old homophobic standby, "the protagonist's only gay 'till the right straight comes along."

It must be a bitch having a name that's a homophone for part of the female anatomy: The inevitable sophomoric gags eventually take their toll on your sanity. Brest, who hasn't made a movie since 1998's megabomb Meet Joe Black, has clearly become unhinged. His film has strange, scenery-chewing cameos by Christopher Walken, Lainie Kazan and his Scent of a Woman star Al Pacino, and his credulity-stretching script uses explicit comparisons of the penis and the vagina as romantic repartee.

When bookish lesbian Lopez purrs at bemused Ben, "Lay some of that sweet heterolingus on me," you won't know whether to laugh or cry. But by the time this slow, strangely low-key film reaches its "Baywatch"-inspired, copout conclusion, you'll definitely be weeping for the sorry state of modern movie love.--Anthony Allison

Here comes the bride

Universal surely saw the potential millions in American Wedding, the third and reportedly final installment of the raunchy teen franchise, American Pie. Even so, its biggest fans had to doubt its appeal. After all, this was the first sequel missing some of the original cast. Plus, given matrimony's frequent comedic treatment on the big screen, there's not much left to mock. It's not exactly band camp.

However, growing up means everything is like band camp, which is to say writer Adam Herz and fellow executive producers Chris and Paul Weitz--all aboard Pie's runaway train since the 1999 original--recognize the hormonal Murphy's Law and general awkwardness of early adulthood. And, while boners, strippers and excrement make for some howl-worthy gags, perversity does little to diminish the loving bonds that sweeten maturity. American Wedding, like its predecessors, embodies this defiled warmth with irresistible charm.

Hapless Jim (Jason Biggs) has popped the big question to band geek Michelle (Alyson Hannigan), who famously popped his cherry on prom night. She accepts, and now Jim must help plan the big event, reassure the doubting in-laws-to-be (Deborah Rush, Fred Willard) and keep things running smoothly, if only to prove he's a worthy suitor. Of course, high jinks ensue, especially with the re-emergence of Stifler (Seann William Scott), the selfish lout who by this time has so boorishly overwhelmed his alpha-male shtick, he must rely on his flamboyance for forgiveness. As a result, Scott's grandiosity steals the show.

The series' formula hasn't been tampered with much here, and that suits the film fine--as well as the actors, so comfortable with their characters that they evolve without abrupt or hackneyed growing pains. As for the yucks, there's no use spoiling them here. The Pie series deserves its success thanks to its element of surprise--the biggest shock being its disarming tenderness.--Mike Prevatt