Wild Wild West: No Laughing Matter
Rated PG13
I love Will Smith with an unholy passion. It’s disgusting. All you have to do is say the words Men In Black, and I get all jibbery. I know, I know, “jibbery” is probably not a word. At least, I don’t think it’s a word. But it’s appropriate.
Having said that… Will, you suck.
Okay, so maybe you don’t suck. In fact, you look really good dressed like Colonel Sanders. But this whole Wild, Wild West thing? How can I put this delicately?
Excuse me, I have to go cry myself to sleep.
Now, I say this as a friend. Kevin Kline is one of my favorite actors. I would kill small, helpless baby animals to look like Salma Hayek. Everybody in Hollywood should study under Kenneth Branagh. And your movie bites.
Let’s analyze, shall we?
The plot would have given Smell-O-Vision a workout. It reeked like old gym socks. As promising as it sounded to me at first — one Will Smith as a post-Civil War government agent fighting a legless bad guy, shake vigorously, chill for two hours — I didn’t laugh once. Not at anything you did, not at anything Kevin Kline did (well, Kevin dressed as a woman, and a butt-ugly one at that, did warrant a slight grin and a warm, fuzzy feeling), not at Kenneth Branagh and the rabid, mutant goatee that was attacking his face.
The acting? I’ll give you some credit, Will. You’ve got very pretty eyes, and you can belly dance. Kevin… well, like I said, he’s a butt-ugly woman, but he does have nice breasts. And I still want to look like Salma Hayek. Or better yet, Evil Willow from Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
Sheesh, I can’t believe I hated a Will Smith movie! [Long, drawn-out, anguished sobbing.]
And the soundtrack! Man, you’re in a western! A western, Will! I’ll grant you, the soundtrack rocks, but it’s chock full o’ nuts! You do know that there was no rap and R&B in the Old West, right? Right?
Aw, man, where’s my teddy bear? I need to cry like I used to for the first hour after I got grounded. Then maybe I’ll do what I used to do the second hour after I got grounded… shave one of the cats.
[Another long, drawn-out, anguished sob-fest.]
Jennifer Matarese