Self Mutilation at the Multiplex

Hmmm. Let's see. What are my other choices?

Staple gun to the forehead?

Boiling lye poured into my ear canals?

See "I Love You, Man?"

Having done the last one, I probably would have preferred the first two options.

This was the absolute last movie I expected to see last Friday night while I was in NY. But, a movie event was planned as a way to get together with some one time good friends. And, since I was busy all day Friday, I left it the evening's agenda up to others. The movie choice was buried in a series of short e-mails.

"Meet us at Movieland, 7:00PM."

"I already bought the tix."

"Later. Oh, by the way, we're seeing the Paul Rudd movie."

Naturally, since Paul Rudd now makes a movie every single week, this could have meant a myriad of films. And I had a false sense of security since his last movie "Role Models" was unexpectedly delightful. But, no, I wouldn't be so lucky this time around.

I somehow was going to see "I Love You, Man."

Now I wish I had my own personal Human Resources department so I could start write-up procedures to fire friends. Three bad movie selections and you're out. When I lambasted my buddy for this choice when we arrived at the place of execution, he explained it away by saying that Jason Segel was in it and that he was also in "Forgetting Sarah Marshall," which my pal loved. I hated that movie as well and now my friend is looking even less likely for a Christmas card this year.

To say "I Love You, Man" was dreadful is akin to saying that the Holocaust was simply a carpet stain. I would call this mess probably one of the five worst movies I've seen. Visine and/or a gun needs to be given to moviegoers as they exit the theater. Even more confusing to me is the fact that this film got pretty good reviews from critics. And they wonder why newspaper circulation is down. Entertainment Weekly gave it an A. When is my subscription up?

The premise is pretty simple. Paul Rudd, who needs to be rested by cast directors for one year minimum, is a would-be groom who realizes he has no close male friends to be his best man. Of course, the entire situation becomes completely implausible during the first five minutes when you're introduced to Paul's younger brother, albeit gay, who is a perfectly ideal choice to hold the ring. But, because this would negate the need for the next 90 minutes and their paycheck from the production company, the scriptwriters conveniently ignore the thought that Rudd should simply ask his brother to be best man. It made no sense to me and ruined any level of credibility the moviemakers could have even attempted to achieve.

So, of course, Rudd hooks up with the terminally annoying Jason Segel, who is following in the footsteps of Will Ferrell as being the actor I least want to be on any screen anywhere. Like Ferrell, Segel is a one note only actor and has about as much range as Jeff Kent did at second base for the Dodgers. The writers let you know this guy is edgy simply because he never cleans up his dog's shit. Now, that's a complex character flaw that I can chew over. Not to forget the absolute hilarity that ensues when countless film extras step in it.

When not focused on canine piles, there are several scenes of people puking on each other. I might be the exception but I cannot ever remember throwing up on somebody. Is this happening in the world a lot? Am I living too sheltered an existence? Or is it simply the new surefire comic device? And wouldn't Billy Wilder's "The Apartment" have turned out so much better if Shirley McLaine's character, fresh from a pill overdose, simply blew chunks onto Jack Lemmon's suit? And, having written that, I will now commit to this: if Hollywood ever tries to remake that movie with either Jason Segel or Will Ferrell in the lead, I will run a sharp object across my throat until blood curdles up through my nose.

Lots of stupid stuff happens the rest of the way and I simply bided my time by trying to recognize some of the LA-based locations. "Oh, that's the Grove shopping center. I wish I was there and not in this theater." Lou "The Hulk" Ferrigno shows up for an extended cameo which would have worked if anybody under the age of 30 knew who the hell he was. Nevertheless, amid all the confusion, the inexplicably packed theater guffawed at all the right places. And all the wrong places. In a comedy as bad as this one, it's hard to tell where the hilarity ends and the coma begins. But, what do these people know? Most of the folks around me were on their cell phones or Black Berrys, looking for their next Friday night diversion.

As one screen comedy after another fails for me, I start to worry whether I have grown humorless. Especially when critics and reviews extol the virtues of some dreck like "I Love You, Man." Is it me? Am I too old, too jaded, and too everything else? But then, out of the blue, I love something similar like "Role Models" and I realize it's all about the script and the acting. I'm just fine.

As long as I find some new friends fast.

Dinner last night: Penne with sausage at Maria's Italian Kitchen.