Year One (2009)

How the mighty have fallen. I watched Year One out of fidelity to Michael Cera and writer/director Harold Ramis, and I'm really sorry that I did.

In a riff of sorts on Mel Brooks's History of the World, Part I, Year One follows two tribal villagers - Zed (Jack Black) and Oh (Cera) - on a walking tour of the Old Testament after they eat from the tree of knowledge of good and evil, an action that results in their exile from the village. After meeting Cain and Abel (David Cross and Paul Rudd) and a brush with circumcision-happy Abraham and his son Isaac (Hank Azaria and Christopher "McLovin" Mintz-Plasse), the two wind up in Sodom & Gomorrah, trying to save the two caveladies they're sweet on.

Among the more distracting and ultimately distasteful aspects of the film is that it plays fast and loose with historical and textual accuracy. The film has us believe that cavemen, Israelites, Egyptians, and Romans existed at the same time, though any student in a 100-level history survey knows better. More problematic is the film's overreliance on established Old Testament narratives, which it disregards in favor of a vignette-style approach in which our cavepeople happen upon notable scenes. Yet Year One suggests that the murder of Abel (Genesis 4), the sacrifice of Isaac (Genesis 22), and the impending destruction of Sodom & Gomorrah (Genesis 19) all occurred within a few weeks of each other - an implication that diverts one's attention from the action on screen. The worst offense on this count is that Sodom & Gomorrah are saved at the end of the film, which is disappointing considering a special effects piece involving Michael Bay-style explosions might have redeemed at least a fraction of the movie for me.

Not that there's much action to watch. Black and Cera move from scene to scene without doing much; they make a few crude sexual jokes before some heavyhanded expositional dialogue signals a coming change of scenery. Black is perfectly cast as a caveman - just not this caveman; as a supposed "chosen one," Zed is responsible for enlightening civilization and ushering in a new era for mankind. This from a guy who in the next breath drops the ball on a fart joke? I've never understood Hollywood's love affair with Black (save for what I thought was a deent supporting role in Tropic Thunder), and Year One solidifies that. Similarly, Cera's underused here, though I doubt he would have done much more with Oh if he weren't; Cera plays the same socially awkward mumbler he always does, and while he's decent at this character type, his delivery trumps the poor dialogue he receives.

That's the biggest problem with Year One - it's a Harold Ramis film. The man who brought us Animal House, Ghostbusters, and Groundhog Day is responsible for this stinker. Knowing that Ramis is capable of so much more than this - cognizant of the potential that's being squandered in this movie - is almost as painful as sitting through the whole movie. As comedy scripts go, this is one of the unfunniest I've ever seen; the acting is weak, the jokes are humorless (even and especially when the film descends to the level of excrement jokes), and the ending fizzles out. Indeed, the only joy one can derive from this experience is celebrity spotting; for reasons I've yet to comprehend, Year One is populated with A-list stars slumming for a paycheck (either that or they simply want to say they were in a Harold Ramis movie). I felt most sorry for Oliver Platt, who's trapped in gaudy robes and one-note jokes about homosexuality; similar pathos goes out to Olivia Wilde, whose nascent career now has a dark smear on it.

Year One is also the name of one of my favorite Batman storylines. DC Comics followed up the popular storyline with Year Two and Year Three, though Harold Ramis would do better to move on and pretend that Year One never happened.
Year One is rated PG-13 "for crude and sexual content throughout, brief strong language and comic violence." The characters talk about sex and "laying with" in almost every scene, sometimes quite crudely; F-bombs crop up on occcasion, and there are a few goofy sword/fistfights that are as enjoyable as they are gory, which is to say not at all.

Run Fatboy Run (2008)

As part of Sunday's birthday marathon, I sandwiched David Schwimmer's (yes, Ross from Friends) Run Fatboy Run in between Dirty Harry and Pineapple Express, which was probably the optimal placement for the latest comedy (no, his role as Scotty in the latest Star Trek doesn't count as a comedy) starring Simon Pegg (who I'm still calling "Shaun"). [Yes, I'm aware that How to Lose Friends and Alienate People is chronogically more recent, but I haven't seen it and I haven't been encouraged to do so. On with the show.]

It's no secret on this blog that I'm a Simon Pegg fan and have been ever since Shaun of the Dead. It might be a bigger secret that there's no love lost between Schwimmer and me, but it seems my Peggophilia outweighs whatever grudge I bear against "Ross." Plus, a movie title that includes the word "Fatboy" is just too good to resist.

The plot doesn't break any new grounds, so stop me if you've heard this one before. Five years after leaving his beautiful bride Libby (Thandie Newton) at the altar, Dennis Doyle (Pegg) is out to win back her affections now that she's involved with American toolbag-supreme Whit (Hank Azaria). After learning that Whit runs marathons and hinged upon an offhanded comment by Libby, Dennis decides to sign up for the next marathon - with only three weeks to get his self-described "not fat - just unfit" self into shape.

I think it's safe to say that if it weren't for Pegg, I wouldn't have given this movie a thought. When I said "stop me if you've heard this one before," I wasn't kidding. Other than a few choice moments of savory comedy, Run Fatboy Run hits almost every cliche in the "win-her-back" genre. In the hands of a more skilled director or an edgier screenwriter, some of the groan-worthy moments like Dennis's slo-mo training montage could have been beautifully parodic; Pegg co-writes but doesn't bring enough of the biting satire from Shaun of the Dead or even Hot Fuzz. Instead, Run Fatboy Run darts full steam into the predictable traps of every romantic comedy about regaining lost love.

That isn't to say that it's all bad. Sure, it doesn't have many surprises as far as plot goes, and certainly it errs on the side of being trite, but there are a few lights along the way. As Dennis's best friend, Dylan Moran (top Irish comic, co-star of Shaun, and a doppleganger for a young Alan Rickman) is in top dry form, biting one-liners off in between long drags from a cigarette. And for pure slapstick comedy, Harish Patel's role as landlord and assistant coach Mr. Goshdashtidar is tough to beat; I've never been able to keep a straight face when an overweight Indian man chases a pasty British man down the street with a spatula. Actually, I've never seen that before. Chalk one up on the originality column, I suppose.

Ultimately, Run Fatboy Run is fun but forgettable, a good diversion lacking the longevity to be a favorite like some of Pegg's other works.

The MPAA rated Run Fatboy Run "PG-13 for some rude and sexual humor, nudity, language and smoking." Some of the language and sexual humor pushes the boundaries of PG-13, but it wasn't anything that made me cringe. Nudity consists of three instances of male buttocks, and don't even get me started on "smoking." Guess Bogart movies get to be Rated R!