Monkeybone

What a shitty week. On Tuesday I got demoted at work. Yes, demoted, from the shittiest job at First American Video to an even shittier one created just for me. Call me "Associate Sidewalk Sweeper and Tape Rewinder." And why? Because I lied to the woman who calls every day and asks for us to hold Roadhouse for her. I told her at first that it was checked out, then I said there was a waiting list.

Maybe there is a Jesuit priest or theology student reading this who can tell me what is ethically wrong with telling a lie as harmless as this. Is it wrong to save an idiot from her own bad taste? Is it wrong to keep her from creaming her juices all over her sofa while jerking off to images of Patrick Swayze protecting southern trash? Is there something wrong with telling her a lie that is so obviously untrue? I mean, doesn't she have some responsibility not to be so fucking stupid? Who in their right mind believes Roadhouse would be checked out every fucking day?

My boss, Dipshit Suzanne, thinks she is a moral authority because she listens to that bonehag Dr. Laura on her transistor radio. She gave me a fifteen-minute lecture about right and wrong and respecting our customers. Fuck that. If our customers want to be respected, they can check out The Maltese Falcon or Hans Christian Anal Man. So long as customers wantRoadhouse and Lost and Found, they are fair game. Oh yeah, I might also have been demoted for accidentally crapping in the Deuce Bigalow clamshell case and then putting it back on the shelf, but that's a story I tell better when I'm drunk.

To top off my shitty week, I saw Monkeybone, an experience very much like being cornered by an insecure frat boy at happy hour: very loud, confused and stupid. It's a big production, and probably very expensive, but it ultimately looks cheap and sounds even cheaper. Even worse, that fat fuck Harry Knowles is in the movie. God, I thought I was going to vomit.

Brendan Fraser is a repressed cartoonist afraid of the huge success of his latest creation "Monkeybone," a kerrrraaazzzzyyy monkey. On the verge of overwhelming success, and about to propose to his fiancé, dream analyst Bridget Fonda, Fraser gets in an accident and falls into a coma.

In his coma, Fraser is sent to Downtown, a netherworld of nightmares where he, literally, encounters his own worst fears, including Monkeybone, which is his id come to life. This is a pretty nice mix of nightmare visuals in stop motion and animation, including a Cyclops, a literal sex kitten and a Mark Ryden painting come to life. But, we leave this world too quickly. Due to one of the clumsiest plot devices of the decade, Fraser has three months to come out of the coma or his sister will pull the plug.

He loves Fonda so much, he tries to escape from Downtown, but Monkeybone outwits him and returns to earth in his body. Fraser must get another body, return to earth and stop Monkeybone before his pure id overwhelms Fonda.

Monkeybone is a colossal waste of good ideas. It could be about the struggle of an artist between commercialism and art. It's a struggle I would love to have, but I don't ever get offered jack for my work. It could be about how an artist uses his medium to exorcise his demons. If I did that, the reviews would be 20-30 pages long every week. It could be a fantasy about a man thrown into his own nightmares. But it's none of these. It's a stupid fucking love story between two extremely dull people, with an annoying supporting cast acting "wacky."

Fonda's character is yet another of Hollywood's perfect women. She has no personality, but a doctorate degree and she's as sweet as a lollipop. I am so fucking tired of these women. Once again, I invite Hollywood's unimaginative elite to come down to the Arvada Tavern with me to see that a drunken harelip who bites can be attractive too. We don't always need perfect woman on screen. In fact, imperfect ones (who bite) are a hell of a lot more fun. Fraser' character is as boring as a Christian stand-up comedy tape. The movie defines him as a schmuck who lets out his wild side through Monkeybone, so once Monkeybone's gone, we're left with a guy who looks like he'd be happier powerwalking at the mall. To make up for the two leads' lack of personality, the story amps up the antics of Monkeybone, David Foley and the other men in the cast. Even the women sidekicks are duller than "As-Seen-on-TV" steak knives. The men provide the only humorous moments, but they also provide all of the desperate shrieking, screaming and running around.

We're told at the beginning that Monkeybone is what Fraser calls his boner. The joke's on you, Fraser, because even my dick is bigger than a monkey's. Maybe I should call mine dik-dikbone. Monkeybone does what Fraser can't because he's too decent. Well, Monkeybone sucks ass until it bleeds purple. See, the movie relies heavily on the idea that we'll love this monkey. Problem is, the fucking monkey is not cute, not charming, and certainly not as funny a device as he could be. He's just a shrill sideshow barker spitting out lame double entendres. How many variations of "choke my monkey" does the average person need to hear?

Downtown looks pretty good. It's by far the most entertaining piece of the movie. The freaks are like out of Star Wars cantina scene, and a dog's dream of cats operating on him is amusing. Of course, Downtown is watered down, so you don't see any real nightmarish images. You know, the dreams we all have, like having our genitals shaved off with a butcher's lathe, or our mothers pouring hydrochloric acid all over us while screaming "You're a big disappointment! There will be no soap for you!" But, while Fraser is in Downtown, struggling with Monkeybone, the movie is at its best. This is partially true because Rose McGowan's tits are there (but they're always covered).

Unfortunately, we're quickly whisked out of the presumably expensive Downtown, and put back on a cheaper earth, where the story plays out with boring earth-bound and unimaginative high-jinks. The movie forgets half the premises it set up and focuses on reuniting Fraser and Fonda.

Fat fucking hippie Harry Knowles has a disturbing but short cameo as a fat fucking hippie watering some overgrown plants. I can't, for the life of me, imagine why anyone would want this unpleasant, hairy, overgrown troll in his movie. I suppose it's because filmmakers know his socially-retarded, comic-book-geek fans are so fucked in the head that they'll pay just to see his bloated carcass. That and the usually correct assumption that you can buy Harry's "thumbs up" on your project by flattering him. No matter, when he was onscreen, I thought we had descended back into the nightmare world again and they were really trying to scare us.

Two Fingers for this mess. Nice visuals, stupid story and even stupider characters. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to take a dump and there's a Waterboy box calling my name.