Grumpy Comedy Review – Paul Blart: Mall Cop

America’s monumental acceptance of Paul Blart: Mall Cop makes a whole lot of sense once you put the rage on hold and actually see the movie. He’s an overweight single dad (mama ran out once she got her green card) who he lives with his mom and heals his wounds with peanut butter.

The guy’s a lonely nerd full who blurts (blarts?) out useless facts to people because he doesn’t know what else to say. He even cares enough about his shitty job at a New Jersey mall to offer suggestions to the higher-ups on how to improve shopper traffic. Of course, they write him off and push him back to the sweaty, slobby margins.

So, I get it, America. Paul Blart is a well-meaning, schlub of an oaf, and you want to see him succeed. He’s Homer Simpson. He’s John Candy. He’s … YOU! In a certain light he’s not all that different from Mickey Rourke in The Wrestler – a New Jersey scab who just wants things to be better. But you gotta be high to buy a Paul Blart ticket instead of The Wrestler.

High…or a kid.

Or part of a family that just wants to get out of the house, and that’s really where Paul Blart succeeds. It’s such a harmless, corny, family comedy. Something Tim Allen would have done if he were still a viable star. Besides a Bonnie & Clyde reference maybe only mom and dad will get, the movie aims straight for the middle. It’s so middle-brow that Guitar Hero makes an appearance. It’s also cleaner than some movie trailers. I waited the whole movie for a fart (blart?) joke that never came.

Still, the humor’s so broad that I didn’t laugh once. It’s mostly that familiar kind of, “Oh yeah, I understand what that’s like” kind of humor. Like, when someone mentions “Perfectmatch.com” you might snicker because you also have the Internet and know about dating sites. Hilarious!

There’s also a bunch of perfectly average gags at the expense of ornery old men, fat chicks, fat black guys, drunk people and people with funny accents. There aren’t even any jokes when Paul Blart is chatting with his Indian associate. They’re just talking, the accent is the joke and it’s SO fucking boring.

As if a jokeless comedy weren’t enough to cause boredom, the movie bogs itself down with a romantic subplot – because everyone knows a good ol’ fashioned heterosexual coupling is the solution to this fat dope’s problems.

Exercise? Forget that. Night classes? Nah.

A bubble-headed blonde with big eyes is all Paul Blart really needs; only he’s got a douchebag with a huge chin cockblocking him. You know the cockblocker is bad because he disparages everyone around him. But (SPOILER ALERT!) he’s not even the real bad guy. The movie becomes this “Die Hard for Kids” thing – only Paul Blart’s Alan Rickman is an idiot who thinks he can steal the mall’s profits by writing magic numbers on his arms.

Yeah, I have no idea. I was ready to throw in the towel when Blart invited his honey for a ride on his segway. Especially since the scene isn’t even played for laughs. Some sugar-pop song plays (I swear, Bon Jovi fans will love this movie) and it gets all slow-mo.

In the end, I suppose America could do much worse than Paul Blart. It fails utterly as comedy, unless you’re nine, but I understand family-friendly fare that’s actually family-friendly is few and far between. Blart is so clean he practically sparkles. He’s even cute at times. Like, when he makes a big deal out of a little cut on his arm – then rubs a Hello Kitty Band-Aid on it.

It’s cute.

That describes the movie. It’s a thing to take little kids to. It may even be better than the shit I saw as a kid. Home Alone, George of the Jungle, Dunston Checks In and various other monkey-centered movies of the 90s spring to mind. Okay, maybe it’s way better than that shit.

But it’s still kind of annoying.

HIGHLIGHT: Some bad guys do flashy martial arts in front of Blart while he’s on his segway. Blart can only wiggle around awkwardly and zoom away in response. Heh.

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