In all my years of film-going, only once have I walked out on a film, and that was the dreadful "Stay Tuned." Fortunately, the cinema refunded the ticket and I went to see "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" instead (a minor improvement). That film is "Gone With the Wind" compared to "Dick," a comedy so unfunny that it nearly became the second film I ever walked out of. "Dick" was so unfunny it was even impossible to laugh AT it, let alone laugh with it.
Granted, paying to see a movie with a title like "Dick" suggests that it will be filled with inane "dick" jokes and wind up a huge letdown, and yet I had high hopes because of the notable cast (Daniel Hedaya, Bruce McCullough, Dave Foley, Kristen Dunst, etc., etc.) and a premise that at least promised something fresh. What the film delivered was, as portended, four woefully predictable "dick" jokes, comic timing suffering from jetlag, and a premise that wore thin after the first five minutes. In short, it was the Watergate scene from "Forrest Gump" stretched--nay, laid on a rack and mangled--over 90+ excruciating minutes.
As soon as you understand that the two main characters--airless, insipid squealers who gasp and roll eyeballs incessantly--will participate in every major Watergate event, you begin to mentally check off the plot as it progresses: 18 and a half minutes erased from the Nixon tapes, CHECK; the Deep Throat meetings with Woodward and Bernstein, CHECK; John Dean getting a change of heart and testifying, CHECK. The process drags out more languidly and about as engaging as the real Watergate affair with about as much laugh-getting to boot. And though it posits to be an amusing re-deconstruction of the events leading to President Nixon's resignation, it turns into a paint-by-the-numbers, choose-your-own-adventure, fill-in-the-blanks comedy that says very little and entertains even less.
Even the film's strong point--the aforementioned cast--is bewilderingly unproductive here. The most disappointing of all is Harry Shearer as G. Gordon Liddy. Trapped as he is behind the thick Liddy moustache and strait-jacketed in this numbingly morose screenplay, Shearer mumbles a few lines, tries desperately to leer from behind the prosthetic nose and eyebrows, then disappears. Dave Foley, one of the comic masterminds from Kids in the Hall (two others, Bruce McCullough and Mark McKinney also appear in this film--ah, the blessings of nepotism) fares badly as well. His H.R. Haldeman occasionally lends a much-need lightening of the funeral plot, but the funniest thing about him is the buzz-cut he sports--perhaps the films funniest bit of all. And then there's Daniel Hedaya as Richard Nixon--oops, I mean "Dick." (Ha ha how amusingly funny.) He manages to play a solid Nixon, avoiding the pitfalls (such as overdone make up, rubbery nose and false teeth a la Anthony Hopkins) while preserving the essence (the vacillations between human tenderness and coarseness). I seem to be forgetting someone . . . oh yes, the two stars of the film, those over-bubbly teenagers. Can't remember their names, perhaps because I have repressed their performances. Nothing could be farther from funny; nothing could be more painful than having to endure their deliverly that ran the gamut of "hyperactive" and "super-hyperactive" with an occasional "pouty" tossed in.
This film seemed to be a bad excuse to string together a 70s soundtrack and parade outrageous period clothing, both of which seem to be the norm these days for films and TV shows set in the "Me Decade." But the clothes and the music wind up being an ersatz substitute for true characterization and plot, a kind of extra-plot shorthand that the producers hope will compensate for anemic writing.
The only possible use for this film is years down the road when any one of its talented cast appears on David Letterman or Conan O'Brien. This dreadful cinematic excretion will be dragged out to embarrass and hopefully humble the stunned guest star. The sad thing is that the real bad guys in all this--the writers and producers--will be far from the cameras gaze, possibly cooking up another disaster such as this.
Granted, paying to see a movie with a title like "Dick" suggests that it will be filled with inane "dick" jokes and wind up a huge letdown, and yet I had high hopes because of the notable cast (Daniel Hedaya, Bruce McCullough, Dave Foley, Kristen Dunst, etc., etc.) and a premise that at least promised something fresh. What the film delivered was, as portended, four woefully predictable "dick" jokes, comic timing suffering from jetlag, and a premise that wore thin after the first five minutes. In short, it was the Watergate scene from "Forrest Gump" stretched--nay, laid on a rack and mangled--over 90+ excruciating minutes.
As soon as you understand that the two main characters--airless, insipid squealers who gasp and roll eyeballs incessantly--will participate in every major Watergate event, you begin to mentally check off the plot as it progresses: 18 and a half minutes erased from the Nixon tapes, CHECK; the Deep Throat meetings with Woodward and Bernstein, CHECK; John Dean getting a change of heart and testifying, CHECK. The process drags out more languidly and about as engaging as the real Watergate affair with about as much laugh-getting to boot. And though it posits to be an amusing re-deconstruction of the events leading to President Nixon's resignation, it turns into a paint-by-the-numbers, choose-your-own-adventure, fill-in-the-blanks comedy that says very little and entertains even less.
Even the film's strong point--the aforementioned cast--is bewilderingly unproductive here. The most disappointing of all is Harry Shearer as G. Gordon Liddy. Trapped as he is behind the thick Liddy moustache and strait-jacketed in this numbingly morose screenplay, Shearer mumbles a few lines, tries desperately to leer from behind the prosthetic nose and eyebrows, then disappears. Dave Foley, one of the comic masterminds from Kids in the Hall (two others, Bruce McCullough and Mark McKinney also appear in this film--ah, the blessings of nepotism) fares badly as well. His H.R. Haldeman occasionally lends a much-need lightening of the funeral plot, but the funniest thing about him is the buzz-cut he sports--perhaps the films funniest bit of all. And then there's Daniel Hedaya as Richard Nixon--oops, I mean "Dick." (Ha ha how amusingly funny.) He manages to play a solid Nixon, avoiding the pitfalls (such as overdone make up, rubbery nose and false teeth a la Anthony Hopkins) while preserving the essence (the vacillations between human tenderness and coarseness). I seem to be forgetting someone . . . oh yes, the two stars of the film, those over-bubbly teenagers. Can't remember their names, perhaps because I have repressed their performances. Nothing could be farther from funny; nothing could be more painful than having to endure their deliverly that ran the gamut of "hyperactive" and "super-hyperactive" with an occasional "pouty" tossed in.
This film seemed to be a bad excuse to string together a 70s soundtrack and parade outrageous period clothing, both of which seem to be the norm these days for films and TV shows set in the "Me Decade." But the clothes and the music wind up being an ersatz substitute for true characterization and plot, a kind of extra-plot shorthand that the producers hope will compensate for anemic writing.
The only possible use for this film is years down the road when any one of its talented cast appears on David Letterman or Conan O'Brien. This dreadful cinematic excretion will be dragged out to embarrass and hopefully humble the stunned guest star. The sad thing is that the real bad guys in all this--the writers and producers--will be far from the cameras gaze, possibly cooking up another disaster such as this.