I recently learned
something I want to share. You know those boxes of "liqueur-filled"
chocolates they sell in Hallmark? Well, you can't get drunk off
those things no matter how many you eat. They are engineered to
contain less alcohol than you'll use just eating the damn things.
Probably you already knew that, because most folks seem to figure
out life's lessons faster than me. And then lord it over me like
I'm a retard. Which I'm not, and I have the certificate from the
Department of Education saying so. Anyway, so you know that, but
what you may not know is that when you eat 14 boxes of those things
in the storeroom of a Hallmark store, it's pretty fucking hard
to hide the evidence. You can't trash the boxes or Glee will see
them. If you just reseal the boxes, people know they don't feel
I know what you're
thinking and I'm way ahead of you: shit in the boxes. With a little
sphincter control you can get each box the right weight, and after
eating all that candy, you're ready to produce. But, shit stinks,
and even if you move the crap boxes to the bottom of the inventory,
they get sold to some smelly lady who buys everything the store
has as thank yous for her best Mary Kay customers. And ladies
who buy Mary Kay love shitty chocolate. They tear open those boxes
as soon as they're alone. And when they find shit, they overreact.
Seriously, I haven't
seen an overreaction like that since the bees attacked that fat
kid in the park and he swelled up like Violet Beauregard. Some
people are such prima donnas. Bottom line: the wisdom I am sharing
is don't crap in a candy box unless you own it.
The reason I was eating
the chocolates is because I just got back from seeing the shitacular
I Heart Huckabees and I felt miserable. Talk about your
candy boxes full of shit. It looks nice enough from the outside,
but it's got a whiff of some jerk's turd. Open it up, and sure
enough, it's teeming with shit, unedited and unrestrained. In
this case it's writer-director David O. Russell's.
This movie's just an
unfunny, self-serving pile of dung disguised as comedy, but without
any jokes. At least not any funny ones. I think there were a few
of the sort that would get rejected by the New Yorker for
being too pompous, but not good ones. That dick Russell even calls
it an "existential comedy" just to let you know how hard he's
going to beat you over the head with how smart he thinks he is.
He's so fucking busy proving he's clever to ever bother telling
a decent story.
plays an environmental activist who goes to "existential" detectives
Dustin Hoffman and Lily Tomlin and asks them to solve a coincidence
for him. He has seen the same man three times in different circumstances
and wants to know what that means. He is also losing control of
a coalition he's created to stop the megachain store Huckabees
from building on a local swamp. Jude Law is the Huckabees rep
and the one stealing the coalition away. Weel, shit, there's a
bunch more plot and too many characters to bother with. It boils
down to a showdown between nihilism and existentialism. How that's
supposed to be funny outside of a group of Mensa people wearing
Mensa T-shirts and drinking old wine, I don't know. But it's presented
as artificially as the color of Jell-o.
Every story is artificial.
Hell, that's what a story is. But the good ones are sneaky and
trick us into buying in. Maybe the characters are believable,
or likable, or so interesting you forget the whole thing's not
true. Maybe the story is intriguing or funny, or in some way good
enough to make us suspend our disbelief. That's what hooks us.
But I Heart Huckabees is all madcap pretense and fakery
with nothing to get us involved. had nothing to get me involved.
It's a series of skits and mouthpieces to let Russell think he's
too fucking smart to crap in a candy box. But you did, Mr. Russell,
you did. You crapped in the candy box and hopefully you learned
from me now.
I Heart Huckabees
is unfocused, with overlapping irrelevant subplots and scenes
of pointless dialog. There are too many characters for us to care
about any single one. And you get the sense even Russell doesn't
give a shit about them. The script feels like a rushed first draft
where the writer hadn't yet taken out the parts he loved but that
didn't work. Partially like a term paper written overnight the
day before it's due. You know the kind you finish at six a.m.,
thinking in your sleep-deprived state that it's the best fucking
thing ever written. Then right after you turn it in reality sets
in: you penned a shit-stained, incomprehensible stream of your
own consciousness. Maybe you shouldn't have used the cuss words
and included that entire paragraph about what an asshole your
The cast is game, although
it's probably time everyone recognizes that Schwartzman will never
again be as good as he was in Rushmore. Mark Wahlberg looks
more and more like the big-foreheaded type of character actor
that plays hobos warming up around a bonfire in a trash can. Naomi
Watts looks fan-fucking-tastic in tight shirts. She not only looks
sexy, she looks like she'd enjoy sex. Jude Law, who plays a Huckabees
tool doesn't have much to go on. He's got no chance to be anything
but a rag doll beaten around by the lame-ass story. And Tomlin
and Hoffman are pretty dull as the detectives. They never get
to do much but spout lines from "The Big Book of Philosophy".
Every now and then Russell has them kiss to give us the impression
that they actually have lives. Otherwise, nobody here seems to
have existed much before or after the boundaries of this story,
and that makes for boring people.
I Heart Huckabees
a One Finger movie, simply because too much effort was
put into pleasing David O. Russell, and too little was put into
pleasing me. Mr. Russell, next time you want to crap in a candy
box, do it in private. Just not in the Hallmark's stock room.
That's my place.