So why is his second high-concept Hollywood comedy, The Invention of Lying, so shitty?

Things sour right off the bat with a hammy narration by Gervais explaining the movie’s premise. What the hell, man, can’t trust your audience to catch on? I think it’s safe for us to take the title of your movie literally and assume it’s going to be about a world where everyone tells the truth, blunt and awful as it is, and a lone fatso somehow invents the first lie.

It’s a decent concept. It must be, Mr. Smartypants Q. Gervais thought of it! Imagine the possibilities. Gervais’ liar could hold a mirror up to humanity, Joker-style, and expose our society for the fragile framework of falsehoods it depends upon to function. Y’know, reaalllyyyy play with the concepts of truth, trust and reality. Which it almost does.

Or at least use his newfound power to acquire wealth, fame and power in a madcap series of comedic gambits. Which he almost does!

Until the story takes a wild diversion into religious satire territory. Then my brain flipped open the top of my skull, donned a cap and a briefcase and walked up the block to the bus stop to wait for the Better Comedy express.

It never arrived.

Turns out, The Invention of Lying is Ricky Gervais’ snobbish Tirade Against Religion Delivery System (or TARDS), something I have absolutely no interest in especially when it’s this tiresome and unfunny. Wow, a comedian railing against how silly the idea of a “man in the sky” is? Now THAT’S fresh! HA HA HA. . .

I’ve got nothing against subtext so long as it’s artfully done, and even better, hidden between the weaves of a movie’s plot. Hell, I love tales of bleak, cynical godlessness as much as the next buttfucking hipster. But I do have a big problem with dumb, bald-faced message movies that do nothing to hide stupid agendas no one in their right mind gives a shit about.

Really, Ricky? Religion is a big fat lie? Well, it made your character’s dying mother feel awfully nice, didn’t it? So why go through the rest of the movie mocking it, complete with Pizza Hut-box-Moses-tablets and a Jesus beard out of left field?

Yes, at one point Gervais, who lies that he’s God’s messenger, actually dons Christ’s rock god locks and expects laughs. No. No way, Jose. You gotta work way harder than that. A bunch of repetitive “hurr god is stupid jokes” don’t cut it. They barely cut it when Mel Brooks and a billion other fucking funnymen did it 400 billion times before.

I figured Ricky would be more original than going neener neener at Christianity and ending his movie with a pregnant Jennifer Garner, eager to pump out more “short, fat, pug-nosed children.” Which confuses me because why should this hyper-liberal farce end with such a conservative status quo of an ending like the perfect marriage with kids?

Awesome Rick, you just made a namby-pamby Disney movie with slightly more gay-bashing and masturbation references.

I can’t imagine Gervais is too happy with Lying since he’s such a cynical, smart guy, and he must be aware of how lousy it is, but then he co-wrote and directed it and now hobknobs with the rest of the rich, Hollywood elite he used to mock so ruthlessly, so probably not. How’s the view from the top of the mountain? Mind tossing down a few shillings for our collection plate?

Prick.

***Tim Magus is Julius Bloop’s film reviewer. Visit his website – Grump Factory***

The sooner we’re spending every waking minute protecting our women and rations from marauding mutants, the sooner we’re not spending our money and time on cinematic feces starring a washed-up Scientologist who squandered his own comeback, a guy who went from starring in Fargo to slumming it in Jurassic Park III, a racist one-man minstrel show, and a comedian whose best role is unseen as the voice of a computer-generated space ranger.

I mean, holy fuck, who signed off on a cast this fucking random?!

Well, fuck, RANDOM is the word to describe Wild Hogs! From start to finish it’s loosely connected bullshit, like the script was written on Post-It notes during the shoot. Which, I’m sure it was! It’s all overacting, yelling and screaming and – get this! — none of it’s funny or entertaining, and it drags on forever!

If you find random shots of a guy singing “Don’t you think your girlfriend is hot like me” to be funny, you’ll love this. If you think an hour-long scene in which a bull chases after our daring heroes while shitty banjo music plays, then slap your knees and throw popcorn all over your awful, plaid carpet.

If you think four guys, naked, in a hot spring for far too long is the zenith of Comedy Mountain, then buy rush tickets to Jeff Dunham’s next show because you’re a fucking idiot.

PANDERING is another word. Or is it pathetic? Ah, either one. Peter Fonda shows up at the end to defuse the situation – Oh yeah, our silly “wild hogs” manage to upset some “real” bikers and they threaten to beat everyone up. OK, whatever. But hey, get it?! Peter Fonda’s in it because he was in movies about bikers while he was in his prime! He just looks happy to be working!

And y’know how they’re saying, more than ever, that actresses have no decent roles in Hollywood? To prove it, you need not look any further than Marisa Tomei. She’s played the same damn character for the past decade, shit, her entire career! Maybe? Sure.

Tomei always plays the Loser’s Girlfriend. In Anger Management, she’s Adam Sandler’s girlfriend for some reason. I guess because he plays the same character in every movie he’s in, too, so that makes sense. In the first shot of Before The Devil Knows You’re Dead she’s fucking Philip Seymour Hoffman, his flabby ass pounding away, wheezing, exhausted, fretting over drugs or banana sundaes or whatever.

Then, in The Wrestler, the Oscar-winning Loser movie, she takes a risk and plays the Loser’s Almost Girlfriend. They never actually seal the deal in that one, which is probably the reason why it was pretty okay. I mean, I was totally rooting for Randy the entire way, except when it came to banging her amazing 40-year-old butt. That just wouldn’t have been realistic at all! But holy crap, her body, man. She has a better figure than women half her age, man, it’s ridiculous. I feel BAD for all you 20somethings, fuck, hit the gym, your thighs disgust me.

Oh god, where was I…?

Oh yeah, so she’s William H. Macy, the wimpy loser’s love interest in this. Another hour of the movie is dedicated to their courtship, so that’s like, a subplot I guess. Or a plotplot, since there’s really nothing else going on besides Ray Liotta wanting to kill them. Oh shit, yeah, our friend Ray Liotta’s in the same fucking movie. Like Tomei, he’s stuck in a rut. All he does is yell and stare as hard as he can at people, and he does it to considerable length here and it’s painful to watch. I’d rather floss my teeth with razor wire than put up with more of Liotta’s bullshit.

So after Liotta tries to punch Macy’s teeth in, Fonda shows up and is all, “HEY GUYS LET’S GET ALONG!” and that magically fixes everything. Then, we’re treated to a scene of our heroes riding their HOGS down a sunny strip lined with bikini babes as The Beach Boys plays on the soundtrack. Cue one more stupid gag. Cue wild applause.

Wild HOG applause.

Y’know, the biggest disappointment of 2009 was, out of all those hundreds of celebrity deaths, no one involved with Wild Hogs kicked the bucket. You’d think the Law of Averages or something would be on my side here, but I guess not.

Even if Tim Allen and everyone suffered explosive leukemia tomorrow Wild Hogs would still exist in the DVD collections of morons across the world. It would still be played in syndication on FX every fucking Tuesday. Right inbetween Fantastic Four 2: Rise of the Silver Surfer and The Day After Tomorrow. Thanks, idiots. Thanks for keeping ball jokes, middling gay jokes and Travolta’s career alive.

Ride on, you pioneers. Right over the edge of a volcano.

***Tim Magus is Julius Bloop’s film reviewer. Visit his website – Grump Factory***

The guy is so self-involved he doesn’t realize his wife is a cheating whore or that his vocation is bullshit. You can only chop so much plywood before someone who actually knows how to fight kicks your ass.

Which happens often.

If not by actual fists then by his own feelings of inadequacy bubbling underneath the jerky exterior. When that vulnerability appears there’s almost someone to root for – so that by the end, you want this awful schlub to succeed at something.

McBride’s character takes some hits and that makes Foot Fist Way work way better than director Jody Hill’s other feature, Observe and Report – where Seth Rogen screams at everyone forever. Hill is becoming the auteur of “delusional asshole” films, apparently.

Thankfully, McBride’s style of asshole-ness hews closer to Ricky Gervais in The Office, making each encounter, argument and standoff as comfortable as corduroy in July. There’s some wince-worthy interaction and although none of it made me bust out belly laughs – I was left smiling or covering half my face in disbelief.

When he tries to seduce the cute blonde, for example, he gets way too familiar too fast. Watching her whip her head around to avoid his insistent kiss is the kind of painful thing that sends palms flying to foreheads. There are about a hundred similar moments throughout the film.

And his final scene with his wife? Phew. So repulsive and satisfying.

The supporting cast doesn’t bog the movie down either (same can’t be said for Observe and Report!). The kids at the dojo, some jerks in a party scene, a Chuck Norris-like action star – everyone does their part to incite McBride’s insecurities.

The movie’s brisk too, clipping by with episodic Clerks-style title cards related to the tenets of Taekwondo, a conceit spun on its head by the abrupt end. Not that abrupt is a bad thing. Foot Fist Way cuts to the chase, stays amusing throughout and leaves before the wife gets home. It’s a peach in that way.

It’s an alright little movie and I give it my recommendation. It’s no instant classic but it is certainly better than other indie comedies like, I dunno, say, Napoleon Dynamite.

Now that was just shit.

HIGHLIGHT: When the dorky Taekwondo student is listening to the guitar jerk make fun of him at the party. Looking at that face full of nerdy rage, you know things are gonna get violent.

***Tim Magus is Julius Bloop’s film reviewer. Visit his website – Grump Factory***

If you’re director Todd (Old School) Phillips, you don’t just make a comedy, you make a movie. The Hangover, besides hilarious, is also a really well-made flick full of novel editing choices, a great soundtrack selection, and a clever narrative you wouldn’t expect to find in a movie about four dopey guys and their colossal hangover.

It’s sort of a mystery movie. We don’t see the fun night in Vegas, we see the aftermath, when the friends are left with a bunch of baffling questions – where’d this baby come from? Where did their friend disappear to? Why are there guys shooting at them?

The movie stays fresh as your favorite muffin as they try to recount their night, discovering new leads and clues in their pockets and along their path of drunken destruction. Plot threads and gags get introduced constantly. It’s like a dumbass investigation movie. If Old School is the stupid, frat boy version of Fight Club, Hangover is the stupid, drunk version of Memento.

Of course no one would care about the clever plot if there wasn’t a fantastic cast to tie it all together. Zach Galifianakis, who I fell in man-love with since noticing him on Tim and Eric, is the star of the show. The weirdo outcast of the group, he bares his ass, says outrageous things and slices his palm open for blood pacts. Nearly every word out of his bearded maw gets a laugh (“Pants at a time like this?!”), if there’s one reason to see the movie, it’s for this guy.

Ed Helms plays a convincing wussy beta male who lets his bitchy girlfriend push him around. He’s sort of the straight man of the group, but he gets more and more desperate as things escalate. Anyone who’s seen him on The Daily Show knows he has what it takes to squeeze some delicious, chocolatey snickers out of you.

Bradley Cooper, who I may have caught once in an episode of Nip/Tuck, is the fun-loving risk taker of the group. And he’s good! The three of them have some of the best chemistry I’ve seen in a comedy, or any movie, in a while. They’re a ton of fun to watch and root for.

And that annoying guy from National Treasure does a decent job as the guy who disappears for the whole movie.

The rest of the cast doesn’t really amount to anything more than cameo roles, but hey, it’s always fun to see Jeffrey Tambor, Rob Riggle, and a bunch of other familiar faces you’d never expect like Heather Graham and Mike Tyson.

The Hangover ranks up there as one of this summer’s best. It’s definitely the year’s best comedy. After two mall cop movies and a rom-com without the com, it’s kind of a shoe-in. Shoot, it’s almost a reason to celebrate. Just keep track of your drink, okay?

***Tim Magus is Julius Bloop’s film reviewer. Visit his website – Grump Factory***

Mike Judge’s latest animated effort, The Goode Family, can’t escape comparisons to its animated family sitcom contemporaries (there are approximately one million of them now) and I’m not sure we need another one. Especially one that seems this outdated.

It has some clever ideas – like the adopted white African American son and the vegan dog starved for animal flesh – but watching its premiere episode feels like I’ve been transported back to the mid 90s when many of the ideas and concepts mocked in the show really were considered kind of unusual.

Wind power? Hybrid cars? Global warming? Whole Foods?! What wacky and novel concepts! Or, uh, they used to be. Now? Not so much…

Okay, well, Whole Foods is over-expensive hippie (hipster?) bullshit and the premiere episode’s supermarket scene was the best part – full of clever bits like the giant sign of “good” and “bad” foods that can’t make up its mind and the loudspeaker singling out the one SUV driver in the entire store.

Otherwise? It’s a bizarro version of King of the Hill with an extremely bright color palette and jokes that barely got a rise out of me. The difference is that King of the Hill gives you the feeling Mike Judge lived around those kinds of characters for years…

Watching The Goode Family feels like he just heard of liberals and their concerns from hearsay. Like, boy those hippies sure like Al Gore, don’t they? And they’re never sure what blacks like to be called these days! Aren’t vegans just wackyyy?! It’s all familiar ground.

The wife-mother of the Goode family, Helen, recalls Peggy Hill, a horrible, overbearing husk of a woman who does everything to improve herself and her family only to stand out as acceptable in the eyes of others. Except she’s like a self-aware version – a Peggy upgrade.

At one point she asks, “Why is it so hard to be good?” and you can’t help but slap your forehead at how awful she is. The other members of the family fare slightly better with white African son Ubuntu as the most likable if only for his dim-witted nature, and dad Gerald and daughter Bliss are bland foils to Helen’s neurotic behavior.

And then there’s the dog who just kind of looks and acts like the tortured, titular canine from Family Dog. Remember that show? Yeah, me neither.

I don’t know. It’s always tough to judge new shows based on their first half-hour episode. Beavis and Butthead and King of the Hill started out rocky too before they went on to become two of the better animated shows ever produced.

Based on The Goode Family’s lackluster premiere outing – and its home at the finicky liberal-friendly, Disney-owned ABC network (which canceled Clerks, an animated show that proved its worth about five minutes in) – I can’t hold my hopes too high. But if it manages to live longer than a month and actually shows some improvement, like making me laugh for example, I’d gladly eat crow.

So long as it’s organic flaxseed oil crow and not one of those processed, factory-made crows.

***Tim Magus is Julius Bloop’s film reviewer. Visit his website – Grump Factory***

Note From Bloop: You can watch the episode on ABC’s website. This is a link. It’s worth a look!

It’s barely a comedy at all.

Here’s the plot: A pervert is flashing his junk around to women in the parking lot, Seth’s bitchy blonde friend catches a glimpse and gets traumatized. Suddenly, a news team gets all over this fucking non-news story, getting the attention of real cop Ray Liotta.

He interviews mall workers about it, which Seth doesn’t like. It becomes a whole Seth vs. Ray thing, they get in a big row, then Seth thinks he can make up with him when Ray really, really hates his guts.

And who can blame him? Seth plays a fucking moron. He yells “FUCK” at the top of his lungs to everyone, which gets pretty tiring. He’s a miserable creep on medication with all sorts of issues, not that that’s a good reason to feel sorry for him.

There is nothing redeeming about the guy at all, going on and on about guns and murder and all sorts of unpleasantness. He’s an annoying piece of shit in need of a bullet in the brain. And he’s the lead!

Surprisingly, the movie points all of this out in the last half – when Liotta tells him he can’t be a normal cop. “I thought this was kinda funny but it’s actually kinda sad,” a fellow cop says. Well, it would be sad if there was some reason to give a shit for the stupid guy.

That reason never surfaces because the movie would rather wallow in mean-spirited bullshit. There’s a scene between Seth and some vague brown-skinned dude, a pervert but not THE pervert, in which Seth calls him Saddam Hussein a couple of times until they engage in an endless “say fuck you to each other” contest.

Later, after Ray Liotta drops him off at “the worst corner in the city” the father of a crack dealer kid threatens to make Seth fellate a gun. Then, Seth miraculously fights him while heavy metal music plays. Also, Seth date rapes his bitchy friend.

None of this is offensive so much as it is boring, unfunny crap. The most overpowering fucking soundtrack in the world plays to cover up the lack of story, or anything funny going on. Every fucking scene, another stupid pop song plays against another stupid montage.

Half the move is composed of musical montages – Seth doing drugs, Seth training, Seth’s sadness, Seth reveling in violence, whatever. All this is capped off with that song from the end of Fight Club set to the streaker’s full-frontal reveal.

And I’m okay with male nudity. I’m okay with delusional characters. But if this what passes for dark comedy these days it’s pathetic. These guys forgot dark comedies are supposed to be funny. This is a bad movie, folks. Recognize it. Avoid it. Pity whoever laughs at it.

HIGHLIGHT: Ray Liotta wails on Seth Rogen. Full blown rage, right in his ear. Shit felt great.

And for a while – I was charmed! Young Tom Hanks is a skinny little thing, full of charisma and silliness, never without a clever thing to say and has a gorgeous babe for a fiancee. Her legs, man. HER LEEEEGS. She looks stunning. Since it’s the 80s she looks like Sarah Connor in some scenes, but hey, that’s okay. I like Sarah Connor.

And I like the 80s. Did I say 80s? Because this movie is 80s as hell. Neon pink and electric blue everywhere, girls in stupid outfits, sassy saxophones – it’s awesome. If you’re into that kind of stuff. Which I am. So it worked for me…at first.

If the movie was just Tom Hanks and his babe running through neon alleyways as he chases her with an egg beater (which he does in one scene) then this would be a terrific, cute little comedic gem about love or whatever. Too bad it’s really a shitty Animal House rip-off. Yeah, the title should have been the first clue.

The plot of Bachelor Party revolves around Tom Hanks being deemed an uncouth slob by his girl’s rich dad, even though there’s nothing wrong with him. Dad wants some Aryan jerk with a shit-eating grin to marry her instead, though it’s clear in every scene that the dad and the jerk just wanna go down on each other. If Tom and his bride-to-be have any chemistry, Evil Dad and Aryan Dude are definitely balling one another. Their tennis match – in which Ubermensch orgasmically crushes a tennis ball in his hand – is probably the biggest metaphor for gay longing I’ve seen since Gattaca.

There’s also the actual bachelor party Tom Hanks’ friends want to throw for him, which would kind of prove Hanks is a classless slob if it weren’t for the fact he doesn’t want one – he just wants to appease his shitty friends. Seriously, his friends suck. These guys are fuckin’ tools – a bunch of overacting amateurs without an ounce of appeal. Their idea of a performance is to scream every line, because screaming until your neck chords protrude makes everything hilarious, right?

This is what the flick turns into in its second half. After everything is set up, it all falls apart into one huge montage of people doing stupid things forever. Lots of morons shouting, porn watching, cross-dressing, hooker jokes, more shouting, donkeys, fat chicks, lots more shouting, and goofy shenanigans no one in their right mind could find entertaining.

Once in a while it’ll cut to a moron trying to kill himself with an electric razor. It just keeps going and going. My interest returned only when Hanks or his girl show up, which isn’t often.

Yes, the main character, Tom Hanks, DROPS OFF THE FACE OF THE EARTH in favor of random fucking unfunny gags. These people had no clue what to do with the rest of the movie. When it does, eventually, cut back to Tom Hanks and away from the funny foreigners and wacky hijinx, he looks bored with his own bachelor party.

Gosh, I can’t blame him.

HIGHLIGHT: Anytime Tom Hanks shows up in the first half. One scene has him and his fiancee in bed and she’s like, “Honey, I can’t sleep.” Hanks says, “I got something for that.” And he grabs a hammer. Hyuk hyuk hyuk.

Kind of like someone who chooses to watch Black Knight.

Right away Martin, who works at a Medieval Times-like shit hole, is established as a selfish wiener. Sort of. There aren’t exactly well-written characters in Black Knight. But hey, maybe he’ll learn something useful by traveling back to the middle ages!? Which is what he does, by falling into his workplace’s filthy moat? Okay…

Anyway!

Back in time, and in England, he stumbles upon a bedraggled old guy who collapses. In response, Martin yells “9-1-1! 9-1-1! White man down!” Yeah. That’s the first joke of the movie, and it barely qualifies as one. He suggests the old guy (played by Tom Wilkinson, pre-fame) get some Ikea furniture. Then, he gets lost in the woods and yells, “Brother lost in the woods? Not good! HAYL NO!” Yup. It doesn’t get any better than that either.

That’s Black Knight‘s biggest problem as a comedy. There are NO. JOKES. Martin Lawrence’s entire idea of humor centers around making references to modern culture – because in a medieval setting that’s automatically hilarious, right? Oh, and he references other, more famous black celebrities.

That’s it.

He’ll namedrop Mariah Carey or Denzel Washington and expect a laugh – like a hobo begging for Red Lobster. And that’s pretty much how the movie goes for the whole 90 minutes. The modern wacky guy gets in trouble with all sorts of medieval contrivances. Some horse tomfoolery goes on too long. Then he gets leeches on his back. Then there’s a huge dance scene. Hilarious!

It’s sad, and annoying, and if one were so inclined – racist. Later in the movie, a Rodney King “joke” comes out of nowhere, maybe to ensure people are still awake or something, and it’s embarrassing. Like, what the hell compelled Martin Lawrence to do something like that? It’s not funny, it serves no useful purpose, so … is Martin Lawrence a racist jackass?

Maybe not! Somehow he got a black leading lady and even a token Asian girl in the movie. In medieval England. Y’know, because Black Knight should make sense historically.

The only way any of this material could be funny would be to quote it out of context. Like, next time you greet a female colleague yell, “Yo, I’m in the presidential sweet, honey!” And start talking about thongs and bras. Or exclaim, “Thank Tiger for that!” the next time you’re putting at the driving range.

If you’re lucky, someone might snicker and recognize it as a stupid line from this shitty movie. Or you’ll be branded a racist moron forever. Whatever.

HIGHLIGHT: A horse whips its tail into Martin’s face. DAYMN!

***Tim Magus is Julius Bloop’s film reviewer. Visit his website – Grump Factory***

It stars a bunch of unappealing people – always a good sign in a film about relationships – including that wormy manager from Entourage, “the Mac guy” from the Apple commercials and Scarlett Johansson (unappealing when she’s talking).

As you may expect from the title, it’s all about over-rationalizing, neurotic women – lying to each other and doing their nails. They are totally clingy, borderline psychotic, and then apologize for their behavior.

They sit back and act passive and do nothing but blame everyone around them. They rip up business cards and go after married men then cry to their lispy gay pals at the inevitably disappointing results. It’s a miracle these people ever reached adulthood. Then again you don’t need to see a movie to experience any of this crap.

That said … wow. These are the film roles for women today? Whiny, self-absorbed, deluded, pathetic – it’s fucking insulting. Isn’t there something else for women on screen to aim for besides “RARR HAVE TO GET MARRIED THAT’S WHAT PEOPLE DO WHEN THEY’RE IN LOVE, THEY GET MARRIED OOOUGHH MY BIOLOGICAL CLOCK!!!”

What makes these people believe they’re entitled to such wonderful, happy adoration? Oh, right. Insipid, over-marketed movies like this one. And having to listen to Mac Guy, “tell it like it is,” and make out with super models? Yeah, man – sure. I can totally relate to that.

This thing even manages to make Jennifer Connelly and her new mannish jaw unappealing by having her shriek at her husband for being a smoker. Man, you’d think a lifestyle issue like that would be taken care of before marriage, huh? Nah, not in Movie World. Besides, do you really think Scarlett Johansson and Ben Affleck have problems getting dates?

The movie bolsters its tedium by breaking up into Clerks/Frasier-like chapters with title cards: “…if he’s not calling you” or “…if he’s not marrying you,” followed by little unfunny stand-up routines – possibly ripped straight from the dumb book this terrible movie is based on. At one point Jennifer Aniston, that bastion of interest for uninteresting people, says “This is torture.” No fucking shit, lady.

He’s Just Not That Into You is a dishonest sham with nothing witty or illuminating to say. It’s a cheap charade that categorizes and simplifies everyone. Women are clingy, men are mean. There. Everything the movie possibly has to say is out of the way in the first 20 minutes. Then it keeps going…

Forever. The movie doesn’t end. Lines are repeated, scenes blend into the same thing over and over. It’s a mobius strip of inane, annoying chatter – like you’re stuck in a supermarket line behind a coupon-waving old hag for eternity. In fact, I think I’m still watching He’s Just Not That Into You. I’m trapped.

Please. If you’re reading this, send help. Throw me a rope. I can’t stand this hell any longer.

Please. Please.

Kill me.

HIGHLIGHT: Kris Kristofferson says something about a crab’s pancreas. Otherwise? Fuckall.

***Tim Magus is Julius Bloop’s film reviewer. Visit his website – Grump Factory***

And I could go on about the fantastic past works of Steve Martin, Jean Reno, Lily Tomlin and John Cleese, but I would get too depressed and start to shooting meth into my veins or something. Although, Jean Reno never really had a solid Hollywood record. I’ll always thank him for Leon the Professional but what else is there? Godzilla? Pink Panther 1? Well, Ronin’s okay. I guess.

Oh, right. Pink Panther 2. Yeah, I saw it. Not a whole lot to talk about, really. It’s so void of humor, charm, emotion – anything. It’s a black hole of cinema, sucking away the nebulous talent and respect of all those I mentioned above. The best thing about it is the Henry Mancini theme song and the 2D animated intro.

How sad is it we need to turn to Pink Panther 2 to see classic 2D animation in theaters? For two minutes? It’s not even that good, anyway. The rest of the movie is just so boring. Plodding. Heavens to mergatroid, it’s snail-like, even!

Here’s how it goes. Plot: Something about stolen artifacts. Then, gag: Mr. Bean, I mean, Steve Martin trips. Plot: An international team of detectives forms to find the thief. Gag: Steve Martin falls off a balcony. And so on, and so on until I realize I have both hands over my face as if trying to hide from the screen. Plot, gag, plot, gag, the whole thing feels like a disconnected mess full of in-jokes from the first movie (“D’BURGARRR!!”), insults to women, children and Asians that are supposed to be taken as cute (Inspector Clouseau’s defining character trait is that he’s a bigot?! Uhh … okay!!), and fake accents up the ass.

When Steve Martin, dressed as the pope for a humorless bit, starts repeating, “LOOKING AT ZE MOOON!” over and over, I was begging for a mute button. And a gun. To end it all.

The movie did throw me a curveball though, and that’s Jeremy Goddamn Irons. Yes, the man who should be reading Shakespeare in the Park or collaborating with Cronenberg or Lynch or, heck, McTiernan again, is stuck in a dull cameo as a painfully obvious red herring.

Irons. Baby. That voice. That scruff. That menace. It shouldn’t be wasted like this.

But then that sums up everybody in this. Actors, entertainers, legends!!! C’mon. What are they doing? Does Steven Martin do this so he can do another Shopgirl? Will … will it be better than the first Shopgirl?! I know the guy is capable of so much more. For a reminder, I recommend watching Martin’s appearance on The Colbert Report. It’s far more entertaining than this movie, in a fraction of the time.

Though that could be because Colbert’s writers have more funny in them than all the D’BURGARRRS Steve Martin can muster.

HIGHLIGHT: John Cleese is told to put Clouseau on the case. In response, he goes quietly into a bathroom to bash his head against the wall. You and me both, man. You and me both.

***Tim Magus is Julius Bloop’s film reviewer. Visit his website – Grump Factory***