Disasterpiece Theater: I Now Pronounce You Chuck And Larry
Posted at 2:10 PM Sep 04, 2008
By Kenny Herzog
Every so often, there's a film that comes along with the best of intentions─to titillate, educate, entertain, moralize, bust taboos, whatever the case─and instead, winds up drowning in a mess of mixed messages, poorly executed talent and an embarrassing miscalculation of its core participants' public goodwill.
These are not your average so-bad-they're-good cult classics or even obviously targeted flops. These are movies that teeter on harmless respectability, but veer reprehensibly into some netherworld where consideration of the intended audience was either removed from the creative process, or they were deemed nuance-deficient and desperate to have their intellect and emotions manipulated.
This feature is here to celebrate those corporately financed, hilariously misconceived debacles. And we begin with a preternaturally worthy entry, brought to us from the king of formulaic-but-passably-weird comedies, Adam Sandler.
The Offender
2007's I Now Pronounce You Chuck And Larry
Plot In A Nutshell
Two homophobes (Sandler and Kevin James) try to scam the NYFD for pension benefits, pretend to be lovers, eventually get outed and are still considered heroes for resolving gay-straight relations.
Most Egregious Offenses
─Using a morally redemptive third act as an excuse to unleash a string of defenseless stereotypical epithets during the first half.
─Assuming moviegoers will give Sandler benefit of the doubt as tolerant in his personal life, making it okay to laugh when he shops for gay stuff, like Village People CDs and framed Wham! posters (which are, of course, always available in your local supermarket).
─Casting Rob Schneider (in itself worthy of demerit) as an Asian minister to reinforce the critic-proof equal-opportunism of their ultimately depth-less exploitation of prejudicial cliches. (Plus, you know you're in trouble when you're taking tricks out of the Norbit playbook.)
─Having us endure David Spade in a caricatured cameo as a bunny-suit-wearing seductress, even more odious for its potential reference to his knocking boots with Playmate Jillian Grace.
─Making us wait to see if improbably attractive gay-defense lawyer Jessica Biel will take Sandler back after he'd lied about his sexual preference, when she should be on trial for kissing a man she thought was married. And figuring we'd gloss over such philosophical quandries as long as we got to see her in wet panties.
─Having the climactic scene occur in a courtroom as a device to facilitate nifty moral grandstanding, rather than have the characters work out the complexities of their situation between each other.
─And finally, once again using New York as a backdrop for a tale of acceptance and duplicity, while spending 90 percent of the film depicting it as the eye of an ignorant, hateful hurricane.
Only Redeeming Quality
Ving Rhames' unexpected supporting turn as a closeted fireman. Emerging halfway through the film, the macho titan truly plays against type and brings the movie's only acting chops, lending actual humanity and humor to an otherwise contradictory and self-satisfied affair.
