Film Dunce: Napoleon Dynamite

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I'm not sure it's exactly a compliment being asked to contribute to this particular feature. I can only imagine the conversation that took place when this site's editors were considering writers for it:

Editor-in-Chief: "So which writer doesn't know shit about movies?"

Assistant editors (in unison): "Eric!"

If that's how it went down, there wouldn't be any objections from me. The list of "key" films I've never seen is frighteningly long. How long? Let's just say it wasn't difficult to find worthy candidates to write about.

I chose Napoleon Dynamite for a few reasons. As an Elvis Costello fan I wanted to know if it somehow related to Blood and Chocolate. It's been in the shrink wrap since it was given to me a few years ago and I wanted to finally figure out just what the fuck Vote for Pedro means. T-shirts with that phrase were everywhere in the middle part of this decade, usually worn by socially awkward types sporting self-satisfied smirks and who undoubtedly had a hard time getting laid.

So what does a film dunce like myself think of this movie? Not much, really. For all the catchphrases and annoying assholes who still impersonate Jon Heder's title character that the movie spawned, it is mildly amusing at best and satirical to a fault at worst. I will grant that the casting is excellent and the actors play their respective roles convincingly; in addition, these characters - or the inflated and exaggerated caricatures they represent - are quirky enough to give the movie some much needed charm. Heder rightly received praise for his depiction of the liger-drawing, tater-tot, um, toting and well-meaning Napoleon, but the supporting cast deserves mention for giving this movie a bit of additional color and personality.

But beyond that, the film's shtick gets old rather quickly and its humor is sometimes of the most basic and predictable kind; maybe this stuff was funny in 2004, but hell, in just six years' time it hasn't exactly aged like fine wine. Indeed, how many site gags and one-word exclamations does one movie really need? "But there are some great one-liners!" I can hear various fans of the movie screaming right now. True, but all those witticisms that for some reason remain a staple of drunken conversations are mostly buried among a shitpile of banal and clichéd humor. To wit: a crotch-zapping time machine, the occasional bicycle pratfall, an excruciatingly lengthy solo dance sequence, bad wigs and even worse haircuts and various physical abnormalities (slack jaws, slow speech, the reaction times of a sea mollusk) that suggest every character descended from the same branch of the Hapsburgs' family tree are what pass for comedy. These might be worth a chuckle or two, but in general the movie's sense of humor doesn't make me regret waiting five years to watch it.

Napoleon Dynamite also fails in walking that fine line between satire and pastiche. At its core the movie is about friendship. It also examines what it's like to be an outsider, particularly in those formative high school years, but its various character types - the cyber-obsessed weirdo, the pervert uncle dreaming of his glory days and concocting idiotic get-rich-quick schemes, the jocks, the cheerleader queen of the school, the rabble of geeks, human punching bags and other undesirables - are so over-exaggerated as to make them both inaccessible and unbelievable. Clearly much of the film hinges on this premise, but all too often it's impossible to care about Napoleon, Pedro and Deb because they don't even seem remotely human. Such lack of realistic characters might make for easy comedy, but it does little to make these various types seem like anything other than freak show specimens.

Though it may be too harsh to dismiss Napoleon Dynamite as a formulaic high school flick masquerading as something more complex and unconventional, ultimately the movie's left-of-center veneer is a smokescreen. Folks love a happy ending, and this movie has that in spades: the slow-witted Pedro wins the school presidential election, while Napoleon and Deb become tetherball buddies. Yet by the movie's conclusion I'd lost interest in these characters, thanks to the film's overblown and implausible brand of satire. The sporadic laughs the movie induces are simply too infrequent to hide its flaws, regardless of what those faithful Vote for Pedro t-shirt wearers will still contend.

Movie Review: P2

Sometimes theatrical trailers, word of mouth, and positive critical reviews cannot do a movie justice. Sometimes a movie is so powerful, inspiring, hilarious, or suspenseful that it must be seen in order to understand what all the rage is about. Such moments are what make the movie-going experience so memorable.

P2 is not such a movie. With a complete lack of humor or suspense, a laughably over-the-top villain, and a predictable ending, P2 is the worst pseudo-horror movie I’ve seen since the abysmal remake When a Stranger Calls. At least that movie featured one of the coolest movie names ever: Mandrakis. I lived off answering my phone by saying “Mandrakis residence” for weeks.

P2 stars Rachel Nichols as Angela, a hard-working gal who suffers work-related indignities in one of the upper floors of a typical New York skyscraper. On Christmas Eve, while her coworkers are wearing reindeer antlers and getting their drink on in the true holiday spirit, she’s stuck in her spacious office trying to resolve an obnoxious customer’s complaint. In between sputtering out Business Bullshit Bingo clichés and fending off unwanted drunken sexual advances from a male coworker, she’s desperately trying to make it to her parents’ home for a little Yuletide frivolity.

You see, Angela’s a good girl with good intentions, but gosh darn it, she’s always missing family commitments because of her demanding job. She’s also nice to her personal assistant, has no social life or boyfriend, and wears her hair in a tight bun, so we’re supposed to like her.

Things go from bad to worse for her when she finally leaves work and heads to (sinister music, please) parking garage level P2, where her car is parked. She turns the ignition, and in a revolutionary twist never before seen in the horror movie genre, her high-priced Germany luxury car won’t start. Eventually she wanders into to the security office, where she encounters Tom (played by Wes Bentley), the garage’s security attendant. He’s socially awkward, clearly sexually frustrated, wears a dweeby uniform, has a vicious pet dog named Rocky, and sports an outdated haircut, so clearly he’s up to no good. Of course, Angela misses all these clues.

After Tom unsuccessfully attempts to “help” Angela start her car (I am not speaking metaphorically here), she dejectedly calls a cab and waits in the office lobby for the cab to arrive. In another revolutionary twist never before seen in the horror movie genre, she finds that she cannot exit the building because the doors are locked. Despite her protestations, the poor cabbie drives off, and Angela finds herself again trapped in the parking garage on Christmas Eve.

From here, the garage’s lights go off and she’s quickly snatched by Tom, who takes her back to his office, complete with Rubik’s cube, tiny microwave, and Elvis Presley figurine (never a good sign in a movie), and chains her to a chair. When she finally wakes up (Tom drugged her, you see), Angela’s scantily clad in a slip and at the mercy of the security officer, who offers her food, wine, and a whole lot of awkward, thinly-veiled threatening questions. For his trouble, Tom gets a fork jammed in his back courtesy of the feisty Angela when she tries to escape. Ah yes, the seeds of true love always begin with a fork to the back.

Too many stereotypical horror movie staples to regurgitate here then ensue. Tom brutally murders the man who drunkenly accosted Angela in the elevator, in a scene with enough unnecessary gore to rival the Saw franchise. With a truly laughable catchphrase – “Thanks for ruining Christmas” – which Tom says to his various victims, Tom apparently has every psychosis in the book, and makes the villains from Dean Koontz’s absurd novels seem believable.

For added measure, Tom has random outbursts in which he screams violently and irrationally, with dialogue that sounds like a college freshman’s attempt at existentialist writing. And in one truly horrifying scene, Tom performs a karaoke version of Elvis Presley singing “Blue Sunday.” I am not making this up.

Eventually Angela escapes from the evil Tom’s nefarious clutches, pulls herself together, and manages to handcuff Tom to a crashed rental car (synopsis: game of chicken, Angela displays Girl Power, Tom the Super Villain gets cold feet and swerves, cars flip, Tom hobbles out of his car, Angela jams a shank into Tom’s eye). She’s about to walk out of the garage when Tom, because he’s such a bad guy, calls her a name that rhymes with “bunt.” And as the saying goes, “Hell hath no fury like a woman called a name that rhymes with ‘bunt’.” Angela torches the car that Tom is cuffed to, and by extension, Tom. Massive explosion, Angela gimps outside into the snow of New York, cop cars and ambulances come speeding in her direction, end scene.

With needless gore, a truly absurd villain whose parents must have done a number on him, a complete lack of humor, and a paint-by-numbers plot, P2 will quickly be relegated to the dustbin of lousy, forgettable horror movies. Look for it on the USA channel in a few years.

But remember, if you find yourself lost in a parking garage late at night, be afraid. However, if you find yourself lost in a parking garage late at night and being pursued by folks with video cameras on Christmas Eve, be very, very afraid. It’s a sequel.