Date Movie
20th Century Fox
Starring: Alyson Hannigan, Adam Campbell and Jennifer Coolidge
The Verdict: ‘Date Movie’ is filled with references to romance films but fails elicit laughter.
1 of 4 stars
I laughed lightly the first time I saw a trailer for “Date Movie,” but every subsequent viewing inspired an exponential decrease in my enjoyment of it, nose-diving quickly from mild amusement to infuriating annoyance.
The film wasn’t screened for critics-never a good sign. I had heard several people toss around the phrase “worst movie of the year,” and it’s only February.
I dreaded “Date Movie” and lowered my eyes in shame as I purchased my ticket. I knew exactly what I was in for.
The jokesters responsible for “Scary Movie” and “Spy Hard” had set their sights on romantic comedy, a genre ripe for dissection and parody, with a wistful tale of love coming to an overweight all-American gal named Julia (get it?) and a wispy, wavy-haired Brit named Grant (get it?). With the help of a diminutive date doctor (get it?), Julia sheds her fat suit, wins her beau, and arranges a fateful meeting between the couple’s wacky foursome of parents (GET IT??).
Perhaps it was my dismally low expectations that made the first 20 minutes of the film seem surprisingly enjoyable. The well-publicized “Milkshake” dance sequence, in which Julia clumsily jiggles through the neighborhood to attract a mate, still gets a smile, as do a few early jabs at “My Big Fat Greek Wedding,” with Eddie Griffin as the over-protective papa who squirts everything in sight with hummus instead of Windex.
Even though ad campaigns have ruined its shock value, the sight of a cat puppet rocking atop a toilet remains a modest bit of lowbrow genius, amplified by screeches and loud flatulence that the commercials coyly omit.
But then it all goes steadily, horribly wrong. The gross-outs get grosser. The parodies get dumber. Fat jokes, gay jokes and poop jokes start flying in from every direction.
Unsightly feminine back hair. A pulsating prosthetic zit. A granny French-kissing a puppet. A fat girl fishing a whole fried chicken wing out of her teeth with dental floss. The makers of “Date Movie” have those grotesque bases covered.
Many of the jokes have an unsettling mean streak, too. There’s a spoof of “The Bachelor” that has losing contestants being blown out of their high heels by shotgun blasts to the torso. Also, when Julia and Grant can’t contain their joy after their first kiss, they celebrate their newfound bliss by assaulting a homeless man.
When it isn’t simply trying to be offensive, “Date Movie” picks distressingly easy and dated targets to satirize. So Michael Jackson is creepy and Kevin Federline is a moron? Really? I hadn’t heard. Product placement gags were hilarious in 1992, not now. Poking fun at elevator music was fresh in the late ’80s, not in 2006.
The parody writing is lazy and predictable. A Napoleon Dynamite clone sports a “DON’T vote for Pedro” shirt and says “Gosh” before dancing briefly and falling down. He’s onscreen for 30 seconds, and that’s all he does. Later, Grant pulls a Lloyd Dobler and lifts a boombox to win back his lady love, when neighbors shout at him from their windows and pelt him with garbage. Is this really all it takes to be considered funny writing these days?
All parodies thrive at least partly on the recognition factor. Audience members chuckle with accomplishment when they catch the reference and get the joke. “Date Movie” fails by piling up the references and skimping on the jokes. There’s a guy crashing a wedding, a best friend’s wedding and wedding planner, but there’s never a marriage between set-ups and punch lines.
Also, this is a parody that unfolds with odd reverence for the mechanics of what Roger Ebert would call the standard romantic-comedy “Idiot Plot,” adhering all too strictly to the hackneyed formulas it purports to ridicule. When Julia discovers Grant kissing an old flame, there’s an odd moment when the filmmakers seem to be attempting to squeeze genuine sentiment out of the scene.
There are confusing swipes at “Kill Bill,” “Dodgeball,” “Rize” and other films notably outside the genre of romantic comedy, tragically underdeveloped bit parts for capable clowns like Fred Willard and Jennifer Coolidge, a moldy cameo by Lil’ Jon and an excruciating musical sequence where a J.Lo type plays the piano with her oversized posterior.
As I sat aghast, scribbling notes in the darkened theater, the final credits began to roll. “2 Much Booty in Da Pants” blasted out of the speakers while the cast list revealed character designations like Drunkard, Slut Twins and Gay Man Dancers. Suddenly I realized I was alone.
Moments later, a theater employee rolled a garbage can into the room at the base of the stairs and began to scan the room for errant ticket stubs and candy wrappers. A quick climb up the steps revealed no trash, so the young man happily about-faced, clicked his heels all the way back down to ground level and wheeled his garbage can on to more pressing screenings like “Eight Below” and “Doogal.”
He was able to do so because my screening of “Date Movie” had only two other audience members in an auditorium built to house 200.
“Date Movie” has failed to be an effective parody of anything except, ironically, itself and other lousy parodies out for a few quick bucks that don’t make anybody laugh very hard and are forgotten the instant they’re released. Now that, my friends, is funny.