Fock this movie

Noel Vera

Best parts of "Meet the Fockers:"

The beginning. Being handed a taxicab, facing a row of green traffic
lights during rush hour, breezing through airport lines, squeezing a
clearly oversized hand luggage through the narrow aperture of the X-
ray machine, receiving a free upgrade to First Class, getting
excellent service from a stewardess who in the previous movie was a
major pain--that's a to my mind brilliant way of suggesting that
what lies ahead for the protagonists is doom and despair, in
the "whom the gods want to destroy" kind of way.

The dinner. Well, maybe one gross-out joke in the dinner, worthy of
the Farrelly brothers (well, to be honest, there's only one joke
worth mentioning in the brothers' biggest hit, "Something About
Mary"--which also involved Ben Stiller, come to think of it).

Dustin Hoffman. He expends the least energy and gets the most laughs.

Otherwise, this one is strictly for the toilet bowl. Jay Roach's
sequel to the hit "Meet the Parents" compares to that movie's
tediousness, obviousness, and overall senselessness, only more so.
Ben Stiller grits and groans like he's passing something extra
large; Robert de Niro glares at Stiller like he wants to do to his
son-in-law what he did to Harvey Keitel in "Taxi Driver;" Blythe
Danner looks as lovely as usual, gliding past everything with
uncanny grace (the movie doesn't make her look bad, exactly, but she
doesn't lift a finger to help (which, come to think of it, may have
been the best policy)); Barbra Streisand has her moments, but when
she eventually turns into level-headed earth mother that's the end
of her performance, far as I'm concerned; and Stiller's girlfriend--
well, I barely remember her or anything she did in the movie (I
barely remember her in the last one).

For those who insist on a summary, "Meet the Fockers" (and yes, they
do make something out of the title, but not as much as you'd hope
they would) has the ever-lovable Byrnes (De Niro, Danner,
whatshername) accompany Greg Focker (Stiller) down to an island in
Florida, to meet with his parents (Hoffman, Streisand) who are,
respectively, domestic husband (I like the term "houseband") and
successful sex therapist. Uptight WASPs clash with hyperdramatic
Jews; much hilarity ensues, or would if the script was even remotely
worthy of its all-star cast.

The cat, incidentally, was tiresome, the Chihuahua less so; the
grandchild the Brynes bring along (he's the sister's son) was so
relentlessly cute you want to flush him down the toilet along with
the Chihuahua while Alanna Ubach, who plays Greg's Latina nanny
Isabelle (and puts in some overtime as his first-ever sexual
experience), is so hot you wonder why Greg left her for Byrne's
blandly blonde daughter (come to think of it, Greg is such a timid
wimp he doesn't deserve someone like her at all--Isabelle, I mean).

Early on there's promise of real blood to be drawn in the war
between Byrne and Focker--a promise that remains largely
unfulfilled, through they do throw us the occasional (and
disappointingly meager) nosebleed; early on there's promise of real
hedonism, even a quick suggestion of wife swapping--which is just as
quickly dropped. De Niro's Jack Byrne, who's always been this
grating mixture of competitive machismo and obsessive paranoia,
again threatens to develop into a full-blown psychotic, then again,
frustratingly, pulls back from the brink. The movie's setup and
execution is relentlessly vulgar, which could be fun in its own way
(think of "Bad Santa"), but never really pushes the vulgarity to the
point where it could actually be interesting; there's always a
pulling back, a softening up, a pause to deliver a moral message
followed by a scene of blissful family domesticity sweet enough to
make you want to bring up everything that's gone down before. It's
not the sourness of the satire that's so emetic; it's the
combination with cloying sentimentality. Why, this is Modern
American Comedy, nor are we rid of it.

Jay Roach has done fairly funny pictures (the "Austin Powers" movies-
-maybe, if I'm in a generous mood); what makes his work here so lazy
and unentertaining? There are three major stars here who have never
worked in a film together, which should have been cause for a major
celebration--why don't I feel like celebrating? Streisand can play
comedy; in fact she won an Oscar for playing Ziegfeld comedian Fanny
Brice in her debut film, "Funny Girl," which was your standard-
issue, rather staid biopic, enlivened only by her unorthodox
presence--what made her think her all-knowing earth-mother sex
therapist was funny (for that matter, what made the filmmakers think
that?)? De Niro can act; why does he continue to trash memories of
his great early work (just so the younger moviegoers know, and older
ones not forget--with Martin Scorsese: "Mean Streets," "Taxi
Driver," "New York, New York," "Raging Bull," "King of Comedy;" with
Francis Ford Coppola: "The Godfather, Part 2") by doing trash? Yes,
it's fun to see a serious actor let his hair down once in a while to
do something lowbrow, but it's been six years since we've seen him
actually make a serious effort (John Frankenheimer's "Ronin," 1998)
and seven since I've really liked him in something (Quentin
Tarantino's "Jackie Brown," 1998--incidentally, Tarantino's best
work to date). When is he going to actually flex some creative
muscles again?

At least Dustin Hoffman, who hasn't been making good choices in
recent years either ("Sphere" or "Mad City," anyone?) managed to
snag an excellent part in David Russell's excellent "I (Heart)
Huckabees;" here he's actually one of the few watchable things in
the movie, what with his clueless intensity (he comes on to
Streisand like a dog in heat (like master, like pet)), and fatherly
devotion to Greg (he assembles a "wall to Gaylord" (Greg's real
name) in their house, including such minutiae as Greg's sixth-place
medals). Hoffman shuffles to and off the big screen so quietly it's
minutes before you realize that he's walked away with the movie.

(First published in Businessworld, Jan. 21, 2005)

(Comments? Email me at noelbotevera@...)