Popcorn Kernels: The Worst Idea Of All Time

In which we review two movies inspired by the back catalogue of the bad movie podcast The Worst Idea of All Time, and instantly regret doing so.

Sex and the City 2

Year: 2010

Director: Michael Patrick King

Cast: Sarah Jessica Parker, Kim Cattrall, Kristin Davis 

Run Time: 2 hours 26 minutes

MPAA Rating: R

The Sex and the City gals take a trip to Abu Dhabi.

The plot of Sex and the City 2 is elemental, really. In fact, it’s barbarically simple, just a faceless mannequin of a story ready to be dressed in the latest designer brands as selected rom local K-Mart shoppers’ vision boards. And yet the movie is Over. Two. F**king. Hours. Long. The 2008 movie it follows was also Over. Two. F**king. Hours. Long. but at least it has a semblance of a structure, following a year or so in the lives of beloved [sic] HBO characters Samantha, Carrie, Charlotte, and Miranda.

This movie can’t boast the same sense of purpose. We’re already caught up with these sexy city gals after one movie, so we’re past the first date stage. It’s time to find out if we’re compatible, and this movie rejects the audience like a liver transplant from a dead horse. Sex and the City 2 is nothing more than a revolting exercise in consumerist acquisition, panning past 90 square miles of company logos as our heroines drift like mindless zombies from store to store across the world, draping themselves in some grotesque simulacrum of high fashion.

The eldritch horror of their costuming cannot be overstated. Carrie carries the worst of it on her shoulders, at all times looking like she’s one millimeter away from dying her skin with tiger stripes like the denizens of the Capitol in The Hunger Games. Whether she dons a pair of goggle-like gold sunglasses that make her look like she just got a spray tan at King Midas’ palace, a set of headdresses that imply she’s either an evil queen in training or she’s currently being devoured by an oyster, or a skirt so poofy I felt morally outraged coupled with a pair of opera glass sunglasses that I kind of liked but were so patently extraneous that they should have done us all a favor and obliterated themselves at the molecular level, she never at any point looks like the movie wouldn’t be improved if she were kicked into a volcano.

[EN: I don't normally put pictures in mini-reviews, but let's take a quick break to gawk at this f**king sh*t:]

But let’s not get superficial, as much as that’s the main thrust of the entire movie. Carrie Bradshaw is ugly on the inside, too. Her struggles are nominally relatable (not wanting to become a boring old married couple; a brief dalliance with a former flame), but she approaches them with such garish self-indulgence that you can’t help but see her as the villain. She’s a clingy, needy harpy who shrilly rejects any suggestion from her (also terrible) husband and demands that they spend time together even though they don’t seem to even like each other all that much.

Her punishment for her behavior is being forced to wear a diamond, because if you’re going to be lifestyle porn, you might as well earn that triple-X. But here’s the thing: her marital problems hinge on the purchase of a flatscreen TV, as opposed to the obvious, borderline-psychotic homophobia her husband exhibits at the lavish gay wedding that gobbles up 30 minutes of run time in the opening act. There are movies about serial killers that have more sympathetic lead characters.

So these four shrieking cyphers are forced to totter their Louboutin-clad feet through an hour of this bloated, staggering mess before they even get to Abu Dhabi. At which point they revel in the worst kind of exoticism, learning life lessons left and right from the Quaint Locals of Arabia, making Statler and Waldorf-esque comments on the behavior of women in burqas, and flagrantly breaking the law about half a dozen times because the only right way is the American way, dammit. The biggest conflict they ever face is the looming dread that they might have to fly coach, and it’s at this point that I vomit up my brain stem.

The worst part of this movie full of causal racism and homophobia (weird, considering it was written, directed, and produced by a gay man) is that it’s allegedly a comedy. If you pull out your magnifying glass and corncob pipe, you might sleuth out a joke or two, but they don’t seem to realize that sex isn’t inherently funny, and that by marrying off three-quarters of its main cast, it has hobbled sex’s potential to even appear at all. The rest of the film is just chockablock with overwritten puns that clearly took a great deal of effort to craft, but thud to the floor like anvils.

Comedy is all about timing, and Sex and the City 2’s refusal to let any scene end before it expires peacefully of natural causes prevents any such enjoyment. What we’re left with is lavish and empty, just like the lives of its main characters. One to miss.

Rating: 2/10

Paul Blart: Mall Cop 2

Year: 2015

Director: Andy Fickman

Cast: Kevin James, Raini Rodriguez, Eduardo Verástegui 

Run Time: 1 hour 34 minutes

MPAA Rating: PG

Everyone’s favorite mall security guard attends a conference in Las Vegas, only to find himself and his daughter embroiled in a massive art heist.

I save the dreaded 1/10 rating for only the worst of the worst dregs of what cinema has to offer. Much like the coveted 10/10, it is an extremely momentous occasion when one is handed out. I recently watched Paul Blart: Mall Cop 2 for the purpose of witnessing its unholy glory, and unfortunately today is that much less special because it did not earn a 1/10. Don’t get me wrong. It’s a wriggling sack of dog crap, but at no point did I feel like it was actively draining my life force like a The Outing or Prom Night.

But that’s the problem with PB:MC2: It’s just barely good enough to be totally unfun to watch. It’s not funny, but it’s no so unfunny that it swings wildly from the rails of reality like your Sex and the City 2’s.

Although, I will say that it has just as much product placement with just as little grace. There’s the establishing shot of Las Vegas’ Wynn Hotel that practically interrupts scenes for another glittering, pornographic pan around its glorious edifice, for one (oddly, not a single other notable Vegas landmark is visited – in the world of Paul Blart, Las Vegas is an insulated monolith that provides for all needs, á là High-Rise or Poltergeist III), but the scene that really fascinates me is a blatant ad for Panda Express that neither promotes the good qualities of the product, nor describes it in any way visible to the naked eye. Blart uses a Panda bag to quell his rapid breathing, sniffs, and mutters “That’s orange chicken.” Then he goes outside and gets attacked by a bird. This is unrelated, but it’s a pretty good example of how the manically uninspired screenplay operates.

But let’s step back and take a breath to recognize some good qualities of Paul Blart: Mall Cop 2. Let’s rejuvenate our souls for a hot minute: The cast is very diverse, so that’s nice. And there’s a joke or two that lands, which is more than I can say for Carrie Bradshaw and her army of diamond-encrusted goblins.

But nearly every element of the film itself is inept. The script’s infrequent lurches into comedy seem to be the unintended side effect of its total lack of an attention span. Slip-sliding from scene to scene, taking on new genres and adding new characters at the drop of a hat. The pacing is a scientific marvel, pulling the fabric of time itself apart to stretch single moments into what feel like days, even weeks (most notably a scene where Blart unwraps a Hershey’s Kiss during a quick-cut sequence where he prepares for battle, a moment that should have been a sprightly, Edgar Wright-esque breeze but seems to have taken its timing cues from 2001: A Space Odyssey). And the acting ranges from Disney Channel pantomime to comatose squirrel.

For an hour and a half, we get to watch Paul Blart do things that make no sense in a desperate attempt at wackiness that feels like an estranged father trying to connect with his 6-year-old. None of it lands, and some jokes – like the aforementioned Panda Express gag – don’t even seem to be trying to make us laugh. They just kind of… exist. It’s a deeply bland, lackluster comedy, and that’s the worst sin of them all. It’s not even bad enough to be particularly interesting.

Rating: 3/10

Word Count: 1490

Review In This Series
Sex and the City (King, 2008)
Sex and the City 2 (King, 2010)

New Year's Resolutions: Yuk Yuk Yuck

Who’s ready for a tsunami of white posters? Here’s a heaping platter of mini reviews for comedy films I screened in the fourth quarter of 2015.

Miss Congeniality

Year: 2000

Director: Donald Petrie

Cast: Sandra Bullock, Michael Caine, Benjamin Bratt

Run Time: 1 hour 49 minutes

MPAA Rating: PG-13

A tomboyish FBI agent is given a makeover to go undercover and stop a terrorist attack on the Miss USA pageant.

What is there that I can possibly say about Miss Congeniality that could contribute to the conversation? See, there’s the trouble with comedies. You know what you’re going to get and you get it. It works or it doesn’t work, but only in a very finite number of combinations. Sandra Bullock is a charmer as an FBI agent so flamboyantly tomboyish that she doesn’t own a brush I mean, come on. I’m as macho as they come and I own a brush. Don’t fact check that.), her sassy gay mentor can’t figure out how he could possibly make her beautiful despite the fact that she looks like goddamn Sandra Bullock, and she finds a balance between love and work. It’s funny. Bada bing, bada boom.

The truly interesting thing about Miss Congeniality is the gender politics that form the story’s backbone. At its heart, the film is a story about a woman learning to love other women and accepting that traditional femininity is a valid choice, even if it’s not one that she personally wishes to make. More than romance or action sequences (of which there are a surprising amount of the latter), the film focuses on female friendship, which is always a welcome addition to any comedy, especially such a humorous fish-out-of-water extravaganza.

Rating: 8/10

Miss Congeniality 2: Armed and Fabulous

Year: 2005

Director: John Pasquin

Cast: Sandra Bullock, Regina King, William Shatner 

Run Time: 1 hour 55 minutes

MPAA Rating: PG-13

Gracie Hart is now the public face of the FBI, but she struggles against the organization’s restraints when her friend, the former Miss U.S.A., is kidnapped.

First and foremost, I would like to commend Miss Congeniality 2 for forgoing the typical comedy sequel route. It could very easily have been, “Gracie! We need you to go undercover at the Miss Universe Pageant in Acapulco! It’s bigger so it’s funnier!” However, instead of that claptrap, this film continues the universe of the original in a realistic and satisfying way. There is no pageant this time, because there’s no way such a high profile mission could actually be repeated, but the skills and friends that Gracie made there must come into play again, all with the undercurrent of women from different walks of life forming bonds: this time in the shape of a buddy cop story between Gracie and an aggressive new recruit.

The comedy itself is broader and glitzier, and never quite as effective, but as a story continuation it’s satisfying as hell. Drag shows, celebrity cameos, and old lady shtick prevent Miss Congeniality 2 from launching itself above the lowest common denominator, but strong women are once again front and center in this action-comedy, so it ain’t all bad. Plus they save their absolute worst tawdry callback to the original film until the final scene, so there’s plenty of goodwill saved up to cancel it out. All in all, it’s not a film I’ll ever feel the need to watch again, but I’m not sorry I saw it in the first place.

Rating: 6/10

Ghost Town

Year: 2008

Director: David Koepp

Cast: Ricky Gervais, Greg Kinnear, Téa Leoni 

Run Time:  1 hour 43 minutes

MPAA Rating: PG-13

A misanthropic dentist briefly dies during a botched surgery and discovers that he can now see ghosts. He reluctantly agrees to help one out in exchange for being left alone and ends up falling for his newly engaged widow.

As you can probably tell, this is pretty much a comedy remake of The Sixth Sense, one of my favorite horror movies. I find no shame in admitting that, as a result, Ghost Town is one of my favorite comedies. They’re also two of the only movies that make me cry every time. I feel like with those last three sentences, I have given you a pretty deep glimpse into my soul. Geez, buy me a drink first.

Giving Greg Kinnear his Jason Bateman The Gift role, in which he finally embraces the fact that his stock character is kind of an asshole, Ghost Town matches his acid-tongued charms with the professional curmudgeonry of Ricky Gervais. It’s a match made in Hell, and these two awful people bounce off one another until they slowly learn what it means to be human. It’s a typical comedy setup, really, but with a fantastically offbeat cast. Throw in Téa Leoni as the begrudging love interest and Kristen Wiig as a vacant surgeon and you have an utterly unforgettable ensemble.

The comedy isn’t flash-bang, light up the room funny, but it’s never a dud, always hitting its marks with idiosyncratic charisma. As delivered by its stunning cast, it presents an emotionally valid storyline that vies for subtle humanism over grand romantic overtures. Plus, it probably has the best soundtrack of the century (Drive would probably be a close second). I love this movie, perhaps way more than anybody else in the entire world, but that’s fine. If you want to experience life through my eyes for 90 minutes, pop this movie on and bask in the glow.

Rating: 10/10

What's Your Number?

Year: 2011

Director: Mark Mylod

Cast: Anna Faris, Chris Evans, Ari Graynor

Run Time: 1 hour 46 minutes

MPAA Rating: R

A woman who has slept with 20 men finds out that women with over 20 sexual partners rarely find their soulmate. She teams up with her lothario neighbor to track down her exes and see if they’re The One because she has already hit her ceiling.

For totally safe, female-led sex comedies, What’s Your Number? is totally adequate. It ticks all the boxes to be what it needs to be without striving for something more. Imminent wedding of a close friend/relative? Check. Kitschy hobby that’s more satisfying than actual job, but she only needs a push to make it a career? Checkaroony. Somehow affording an enormous apartment on literally no salary? Hell yeah, that’s a check. Two people who don’t realize they’re perfect for each other until the very end? Ding ding ding! We have a winner. And don’t you dare complain that that’s a spoiler. You literally don’t need to have seen a single movie in your life to predict the end of What’s Your Number?.

Its two main functions, both of which is performs with mechanical perfection, are to provide a heaping hors d'oeuvre tray of man meat courtesy of Chris Evans (who graciously braves the cold every other scene) and give a showcase to Anna Faris’ ever-underappreciated talents. Faris and Chris Evans(’ torso) are both served well, but the thin script holding them up sags a bit in the middle, like a generic brand paper towel in one of those comparison commercials. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, but it’s charming and has font jokes, so it’s an at least tolerable good time.

Rating: 6/10

Sex and the City

Year: 2008

Director: Michael Patrick King

Cast: Sarah Jessica Parker, Kim Cattrall, Cynthia Nixon

Run Time: 2 hours 25 minutes

MPAA Rating: R

Carrie Bradshaw and her friend continue to struggle with the responsibilities of life, love, work, and sex… in the city.

Sex and the City was a huge hit, so it was no surprise when it was bestowed with one of TV’s very rare movie continuations, four years after it went off the air. What is surprising is that director/writer Michael Patrick King attempts to jam an entire season’s worth of material into the feature, leaving it teetering with a bloated and unwieldy 2 ½ hour runtime. In sitcom format, Sex and the City is a sprightly watch, but at this staggering volume, the flaws of the show become concentrated into one punishing punchbowl of pain.

Our tacky materialistic single gal Carrie Bradshaw is now a tacky, materialistic engaged gal, and she calls upon her far more interesting friends to coo and fawn over her while suppressing their vomit at the sight of the mammoth plastic flower she has grafted to her sternum. You can tell that they’re matured since the show’s finale, because sometimes there’s a toddler in a high chair shoved into the corner of the frame. 

While her friends deal with a variety of realistic human problems (well, Miranda and Sam at least deal with spousal betrayal, sexual dry spells, and unsatisfying relationships. Charlotte has a series of successes quietly in the corner and resurfaces every once in a while to chirp and make shocked faces over lavishly overpriced lunches), Carrie whines about having the wrong area code and wrecks her relationship because this movie needs a plot.

Sex and the City is greeting card comedy for miserable white 40-somethings, at least whenever Carrie is around. The only recognizable jokes she makes come in the form of truly ludicrous brand name-dropping and self-centered bleating. Cut her out of the movie and it would be a sultry breeze. But alas, that’s the one thing that’s never going to happen, so we’re stuck with this interminable Titanic of nauseating commercialism.

Rating: 5/10

Word Count: 1565

Reviews In This Series

Sex and the City (King, 2008)

Sex and the City 2 (King, 2010)