January 30, 2004

Ewen McGregor (young Ed) – young fish.

Billy Crudup (Will) – son of a fish.

Matthew McGrory (Karl) – big big fish.

Jessica Lange (Sandra) – wifey fish.

Helena Bonham Carter (Jenny) – a little fishy on the side.

Ever been to one of those oh-so-trendy art shows, where the so-called “art” consists of crunched up hubcaps, blobs of paint and someone’s ugly girlfriend sketched even uglier in charcoal? No one in the room ever has the cajones to stand up and state the obvious; “Yo, my 3-year-old brings back better “art” from day care.” Such is the case with Big Fish, a two-hour mishmash of forced esoteric psychobabble that’ll leave you wondering how good the film might have been if someone had yelled, “Cut!” once in a while. You see, Hollyweird is chock full of no-talent sycophants who not only don’t know the difference between creativity and crappola; they don’t have the guts to tell big name ahk-tors and directors when their caca stinks. Big Fish is what happens when a director gets trendy. And don’t all you limp-wristed, dressed-all-in-black, latte sipping feelm crit-teeks write me snotty letters hailing the accomplishments of Tim Burton; I know the guy is talented. Nevertheless, Big Fish could easily be renamed “The Big One That Got Away – Way Far Away;” or “Fellini Meets Walter Mitty.” Ever take a whiff of a big dead fish? Here’s your chance.

Here is the plot of Big Fish in a bait bucket: Ed tells tall tales and his cranky, spoiled son doesn’t like it. Finally cranky-puss figures it out – about 120 minutes after the rest of us already did. A whole lotta yarnin’ ensues.

The PC in Big Fish flies out like a cypselurus heterurus (look it up). Ed the whopper-teller’s son, Will, works for United Press International. The irony here is supposed to be that even though Will claims not to like his Dad’s stories, he himself ends up in a career where relating stories is the key. Will is quick to point out that his stories are real and his Dad’s are falsities. This coming from a man working in the mainstream press. Howzat for hypocrisy?

The mainstream media would never lie to you. Nooooo. Only evil right wing Internet news sites, radio talk shows and Bill O’Reilly will lie to you. I know this, because Hollyweird tells me so.

Riiiiight … and no one ever got fired from the New York Times for fabrication, either.

More PC pops out like a bobber taking a hit from a catfish when Ed (Finney) says, “It’s rude to talk about religion; ya never know who yer gonna offend.” Oh, is that right, Hollyweird? When was the last time Hollyweird was afraid of offending Christianity? Just look at the furor over Mel Gibson’s The Passion, for God’s sake (pun intended). Hollyweird even went as far as to replace Muslim terrorists with Evil Caucasian Nazi’s (lookout! There’s one right behind you!) in the film Sum Of All Fears. After all, to Hollyweird, the real threat to their baby – socialism – is those hideous evil right wing Christians who would dare to imply that morality, American sovereignty and individual freedom are important.

All religions – but especially Christianity – are a bad thing. Sometimes Judaism is okay, but only if they are liberals who believe in the real higher power; Big Brother Guv’mint. Big Brother Guv’mint will take care of you, nurture you and make you feel all warm and cozy. I know this, because Hollyweird tells me so.

More PC wafts out of Big Fish like an odor from a three-day-old plate of mahi-mahi when Ed meets an inept poet turned even more inept bank robber. This character, played by the fish-faced Steve Buscemi, decides that the best way to steal from people would be to get involved in the oil business and play the stock market. And not just any oil – Texas oil. This is Hollyweird’s way of slamming President Dubya, plus their eternal whine of class warfare. The liberals’ political forte is to keep pushing the fable that all rich people are bad and they got wealthy by stealing from and abusing the unwashed masses. While this may be true of the Kennedy’s and perhaps Leona Helmsley, you will be hearing more of this liberal prevarication as the 2004 campaign heats up. Watch for John Kerry and his billionaire ketchup wife to hurl personal insults at “rich boy” President Dubya. Howzat for hypocrisy … again.

Bad Caucasian wealthy men! Bad bad bad! (Kennedys, Clintons and other wealthy liberals excepted)

Hey Hollyweird; how many rich white guys ya got in Tinsel Town? Just askin’.

Mo’ fishy PC swims out with the whole over the top Southern accent motif. Here we have another bunch of Hollyweird non-Southerners – many from Britain – doing to the Southern drawl what Ah-Nold does to the English language. You might even call Big Fish “Brits with Grits.” And take a look on the desk of Ed’s first boss; there’s a sign that says “Confederated Products.” Get it? Confederated as in Confederate as in Howard Dean’s evil battle-flag waving Whiteys with pick ‘em up trucks. Naturally Confederated Products sells a completely useless gizmo (a tool-laden mechanical hand). Imagine the squalling from the left if that company was named “Useless Liberal Ideas” or “More Government Waste” or better yet “Yiddish Yankee Yahoos.”

All Southerners are stupid and need to be reconstructed by government in the sacred vision of the elite Northern ways. Southern Whiteys cannot be trusted; certainly not like those nice honest people in the Northern inner cities. I know this, because Hollyweird tells me so.

Hey Hollyweird, when was the last time you portrayed inner city blacks in a bad light, like you do with rural Whiteys? Just askin’.

There are some fun things to watch out for in Big Fish; that is if you can refrain from constantly watching your watch waiting for it to end. Look for a fire engine red 1966 Dodge Charger (niiiiice!). Look for Danny Devito doing a really really bad Brooklyn/Dixie drawl – hey Danny, if you’re gonna take a role; at least practice it. Look for a quick shot of Billy Redden, now 47, plucking the banjo like he did 30 years ago in Deliverance (factoid: Redden does not even know how to play a banjo, still lives in Clayton, Georgia and owns the Cookie Jar Café diner where he puts in 10-hour days). Look for Helena Bonham Carter’s double role as a wizened old witch; a witch which looks a lot like Johnny Depp with sun-depravation. Look for a very odd Japanese ventriloquist gig – the dummy looks a lot like Dennis Kucinich. Look for oversexed Siamese Twins; kinda like Lucy Liu times two – except these girls are pretty. Look for cinematic nods to Edward Scissorhands (imagine that), 8½, Deliverance, The Princess Bride, Beatlejuice and Wizard Of Oz – all much better flicks. Look for a butt-nekkid stand-in for Danny Devito – at least I hope it’s a stand in; I’d hate to think I’ve actually seen Danny Devito’s butt.

One person I’d like to point out is Matthew McGrory, who plays Karl the giant. McGrory truly is a giant, stretching in at 7 feet 6 inches tall and tipping the scales at 350 pounds. By the time he was in kindergarten, McGrory was over 5 feet tall and weighed 160 pounds. He is one of the tallest human beings ever to walk the Earth. Matthew holds the Guinness Book record for the largest shoe size – 29½. And you know what they say, ladies – big shoes … big feet.

Although Big Fish is visually striking at times, the story just drags on and on with one cartoony special effect after another. This film may have started out as a one-hour made-for-TV After School Special and then one of Hollyweird’s nepotistic nephews named Myron got the idea to add an extra hour of somnolent pseudo-philosophizing and stretch it into a full length film – far too full. Other than a few almost-funny ancillary characters, we don’t care for any of these people at all; not even at the movie ending bye-bye scene. All these people just plain suck. As for the supposed funny one-liners –guess what – they’re not funny. I can’t remember a one. I repeat: this is what happens in Hollyweird when a director gets trendy.

Well, I’m not trendy and I’m not in Hollyweird … hey Tim; this movie blows. And you know it. Pass the caviar.

Big Fish has two of the 5 Bachelor B’s: Beasts and Bashes. No Blood, no Bombs and no Breasts – although I did have a few strange thoughts about those Siamese Twins … ya think they have two … nevermind.

I guess you could say that Big Fish just doesn’t cut bait (insert rimshot here). If you want to hear a real fish story, tune in to the Democratic Primary debates. Now that’s fishy.

I give Big Fish two Capitalist Dollar Signs (out of 5)
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