In the 1930s there
appeared in Hollywood a new genre called the Screwball Comedy, created by
people like writers Charles McArthur, Ben Hecht, Charles Lederer, Directors
Frank Capra, Preston Sturges, Leo McCarey, Howard Hawks, actors Carole
Lombard, Cary Grant, Katherine Hepburn, Irene Dunne, William Powell, and
others of their ilk. These people all were, or became, Hollywood legends, as did
their movies, which were cleverly written, brilliantly directed and acted.
They were subtle and funny. There
were lots of them and audiences adored them.
They are still brilliantly funny.
And they had taste.
Fast forward to
the present. Now instead of clever scripts we get the toilet humor of
stuff like Thereís Something About With Mary (1998) and, now, My
Bossís Daughter. Although there are some funny lines that had me
laughing out loud, most of the humor is based on the groin.
There are lots of urine shots. The
film itself has absolutely no coherence. The concept is that Tom Stansfield (Ashton Kutcher) works for
a dictator-like boss, Jack Taylor (Terrence Stamp) and has a crush on his
daughter, Lisa (Tara Reid). Tom
gets finagled into housesitting while Jack and Lisa go out.
Jack gives him specific instructions that nobody is to set foot in
the house. Naturally, as soon
as Jack leaves, the house is inundated with weird people, who cause nothing
but trouble. What follows is
imbecilic. The ending is
The film starts
out with ten very funny minutes. Then
the scatological humor starts and the movie tanks, as far as Iím
concerned. The film is obsessed
with the male groin. Not only does urine fall like rain, when someone pulls a gun,
his victim pulls his male member. Call me crazy; I donít find this funny.
I donít rate
this at the bottom of the barrel because the film does have a few funny
moments. But I wouldnít
recommend it to anyone with the slightest inclination to good taste.
August 23, 2003