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Shrek 2
(2004)
Dir: Andrew Adamson/Kelly Asbury/Conrad Vernon
What I find most distressing about Shrek 2 is that it is summarily forgiven for dipping its ham fist into just about every jar of pop-culture in proximity, because all of the thoughtless pillaging is done in the name of entertaining both kids and adults. Minus the gags hinging on the Lord of the Rings, and Matrix films, as well as tardy tributes to Ghostbusters and Ricky Martin, this movie would have the strength of a damp Kleenex. Never mind that its utter dependence on perishable pop culture minutiae gives it so wan a shelf life, this movie is mildly insulting. It does nothing to further any of its characters or add any depth to their universe--a universe as stretched as thin and transparent as Bush‘s foreign policy. I’m just fucking with you, Bush is rad. This (movie) is profiteering, running naked through the halls of decency, on unhinging amounts of PCP. A movie peppered with hearty nods to the likes of Starbucks should wipe the egg off its mug. Eerily, much like running a bullshit administration, this move needed lots of helping hands. It took three directors and four writers to come up with this nonsense! It propagates the idea that oldin’s and youngin’s have no common ground--except in commercial watching. Kids only laugh at sassy, farting donkeys, and adults can barely tolerate more than animated pillaging of the media tastes of yore; lukewarm stuff to begin with … uuuuuuuuhhhhhhh … I don’t know that I can go on. My shaken mind is still frantically decoding hideous images of Mike Myers in his Cat in the Hat frightmare suit, hocking holiday stamps for the UNITED STATES POSTAL SERVICE. Sweet Christ, how can I think rationally about his thousandth Scottish brogue-fest right now? This man will attach his name to anything! Remember the scene in one of his better movies, wherein his hessian alter-ego and an equally aloof counterpart mocked the act selling out to sponsors? It’s not so funny when you take into account the fact that they used companies like Pepsi, and Domino’s to facilitate their satire; and then take a look at Mike Myers these days. His saw-toothed, hipster fossil re-treading until the rims spark with a Heineken in his shaggy paw. Just the previews to his Seuss bloodbath did more to molest my inner child than the horrible Star Wars, Episodes I and II combined. The name Mike Myers used to fucking mean something, man. It stood for canned ham. Now, it screams it’s new dictum at the faint jingle of pocket change: Spam for hire!
I think I need to go rent So I Married and Axe Murderer to unsnarl my soul.
By the way, how was that “uuuuuuuuhhhhhhh?” I don’t usually use those.
Let me know.
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