Hey folks, Harry here and I've got a report from Mr Beaks on a flick... well, wow does it sound... um... done? I met Mr Beaks last week in New York, when I should've been paying closer attention to my email, but that's a separate story altogether... But back to Mr Beaks... he's a strange fella... When Dr Moreau was overtaken by his genetic martini of a group, Mr Beaks... (Half Pelican - Half Man) landed in the only city on earth where he felt NORMAL and a PART OF THINGS.... New York. He's worked in and around all sorts of gigs in the city that never sleeps... and his Birdseed Burger with an abalone topper that he had at Big Nick's somewhere around 66th and Broadway (I think) a few blocks down from the WEST SIDE STORY Basketball courts (well... where they used ta be)... Well, Mr Beaks has amazing visual abilities, and he spotted this carp instantly... read his description... and beware...
Hey, guys!
Harry, I want to thank you for your grand company, candid conversation, and the late night burgers last week. It was a pleasure to finally meet you. Hopefully, business, or the government of New Zealand, will bring you our way more often.
Moriarty, I think it's high time you made a trip to NYC so I can take you on the Abel Ferrara Tour of Sleaze (okay, one doesn't exist just yet, but I'm sure it's just a matter of time before NEW ROSE HOTEL finds its audience, and necessitates such an attraction.)
On to more unpleasant matters..... here lies my review for the wretched little sex comedy called TOMCATS. As I write this, my eyes gaze skyward through my window as I demand that Yahweh descend from on high and punish the bottom-dweller known as Gregory Poirier. Hope you can use this.....
Upon the release of BLAZING SADDLES, Mel Brooks boasted that his comedy, which lampooned sex, race and damn near everything else, "rises below vulgarity." Were Gregory Poirier, the writer and director of the toxic sex-comedy TOMCATS, asked to quip likewise on his work, why is it that all I can hear him saying is "dude, can you believe we show a guy eating a cancerous testicle? Nobody's done *that* before!"
What hasn't been done before, and how crudely can it be set up seems to be the guiding spirit for the first-time director (he apparently earned this gig by his superior scripting of the implausible GOSSIP and the frustrating missed opportunity ROSEWOOD,) as he sets in motion the tale of a close-knit group of men, the titular "Tomcats," who start a marriage pool, the winner of which will be the "last bachelor standing." When one of these imbeciles, essayed convincingly by Jerry O'Connell, runs afoul of a ruthless, mob-connected casino owner (Bill Maher) by going $50,000 in dutch playing craps, his only salvation is to get the final Tomcat, a despicable cad in the form of Jake Busey, married off so he can collect the pot. Enter AMERICAN PIE'S Shannon Elizabeth as the girl of Busey's dreams, with whom O'Connell conspires to split the winnings; an offer that somehow seems attractive to her even though she'll have to live with the lout.
Unlike the comedies of the Farrelly Brothers, whose raucous style Poirier is no doubt seeking to appropriate, there is not one likeable character to be found, save for SNL's Horatio Sanz, who plays an already-married Tomcat who suspects his wife (Jamie Pressly) is carrying on a lesbian affair with their housekeeper. With no rooting interest in our protagonist, there is a disengage from the film, which forces the gags to pick up the slack. That Poirier resorts to testicular cancer, and the aforementioned eating of the excised nut, for shock value should not be taken as an encouraging sign.
Oh, but if only bad taste were this film's sole weakness. There's also two utterly pointless film parodies, gleeful misogynism, and an S&M gag so telegraphed, not only can you see the punchline coming out of the proverbial Holland Tunnel, you can see it paying the toll on the way in. This ineptitude leaves the actors riffing in a vacuum, most notably harming poor Ms. Elizabeth, who suggested a potential flair for broad comedy in SCARY MOVIE. After this, it's back to sex-object for her.
TOMCATS is slated to be released on March 30th, a week after the Farrelly Brothers' produced SAY IT ISN'T SO; therefore, it could serve as a helpful primer in gag writing for aspiring comedy scribes (I'm doing my best to be positive here.) If a screening of TOMCATS, in all its wretched splendor, allows one burgeoning jokesmith to hone his trade, thereby averting a, Nipsy help us, TOMCATS REDUX, perhaps its existence in the Tasteless Comedy Canon is not in vain.
Mr Beaks
