CINEMA

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SHOWBIZ TIME MAGAZINE. April-May Issue P.5 Cover of the Magazine Table of Contents

CINEMA: THE REVIEWS

Blades of Glory
Assessment: Skate on by

By Marion DS Dreyfus

A close friend said that "Blades of Glory" (Paramount/Dream Works) had gotten raves from the NYT and that the WSJ had given it a 9 out of 10 ‘amusement points.’ I had misgivings, serious misgivings. It looked dorky, dumb, and over-the-top. Since I respect my friend, and the judgment of the Wall Street Journal, I acquiesced.

We already had Fandango tix; the show was, by 6:30 pm, sold out for the 7 pm Sunday extravaganza of previews. We saw many little kids there, some, by themselves. What were their parents thinking?

I am sad to report this is a strong contender in my book for least impressive movie of the year so far. Not only was it not even amusing for lo-o-ong stretches, unforgivable for a film whose roots are in "Anchorman" and "Elf" and associated yobbo silliness of Will Ferrell et al., but it is a prime stealth offering in the enlarging canon of crypto-gay stuff. You want to do a homo-erotic flick, do it. Don’t sell us something “for kids” and “couples” which this is not.

Such films, like this one, pretend to be like Lewis &Amp; Martin laff-fests, but the true agenda is to wear down objections to thinly veiled queer-buddy films, all while
harrumphing about how they don't like men, and they are, of course, real hound-dogs. Farrell is seen slobbering over scantily clad arm-candy, whenever the film can squeegee him into a scene on a chaise, looking dissipated and, by the way, revolting. Woman throughout—excepting Amy Poehler (of SNL) —occupy pride of position: i.e., inane and disposable.
Perhaps 50 years ago “Blades” (which uses the flagrant term “blades” as a nudge-nudge for cognoscenti) could have elicited a few giggles at the premise of having two ostensibly masculine skaters having to be paired because they cannot otherwise compete in a sport that has banned them, otherwise, for two-gendered pairs.

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Amy Poehler and husband Will Arnett

Shortly into the showing, we became acutely uncomfortable at the vulgarity, the scatology running through and through, and the rancid sexual innuendo that piled on unrelentingly. Were kids able to understand the blatant erotic byplay slicing the air? Were they up to the rudeness demonstrated without much evidence of consoling wit? The skating, probably CG special effects, was top-notch and terrific. The male lead with Ferrell, Jon Heder ("Napoleon Dynamite"), alarmingly nancy-boy enough already, emphasized his feminine side with bouffant blond hair-do and pouty crimson lips. Aided by rollicking, outstandingly droll skating finery, the true star of the film, actually. I would have liked to see Owen Wilson in the Heder role. The one true line in the film, muttered by someone sane enough to observe the blindingly obvious: “Aw guys, skating is already so gay…!” Did we need rival skating raunch in addition to Broken Mountains and assorted pseudo actioners?

Why is this film doing well? A scary proposition. Are we that hard up for relief? Farrell's best efforts are wasted in this embarrassment.

One self-confessed stalker in the film, who loves one of the male pair to distraction, except it is ''no fun to stalk a has-been,'' says, in a queen-for-a-year affected whine, "I love you so much I could take off all your skin and wear it...!" This is supposed to be funny? He follows this Ted Bundy ha-ha with another hilarious exit line: "I know you're going to win and become great again! And then I'm still going to kill you!" And off this stalker/Paul Lynd wannabe sails. Where is the funny? Everyone in the film is nasty, cruel, brutal and/or mean-spirited. Even the single 'pure' girl in the movie, the enslaved sister (fuzzy explanation not offered for this odd state of affairs) of a couple who are supposed to be siblings, is routinely ‘handled’ and evidently brain-addled enough to fall for the evil machinations of evil sister, Amy Poehler (brutish as everyone else, but hilarious as a conniving Tonya Harding type). She is oddly paired with Will Arnett ("Arrested Development"), supposedly her brother. Craig T. Nelson, an actor I usually enjoy, calls in his guts-and-gore rah-rah trainer in different unflattering hairstyles who self-parodies his winning turn on the longtime TV sitcom, Coach. And this mess of egregious skate-department Ur-porn cleared more than $33 million this weekend? Give me "300" any day, for all the caricature and—if the whispers are to be believed—anti-Persian conquest rhetoric.

In the future, look to the WSJ for their views on less important matters than comedies. Like politics. Or the Market.