American Outlaws (2001) from Johnny Web (Uncle Scoopy; Greg Wroblewski) |
When I saw The Skulls, I thought I had gone to heaven. Surely, I thought, this film is the very apotheosis of dumb scripts. Everything it could get wrong, it did get wrong. There wasn't a believable minute in the film. It was one for the ages, and it could never be challenged. Standing before it, as a lover of bad writing, I stood as a lover of good sculpture must have stood before the statue of David when Michelangelo pulled away the drapes to reveal it. I knew that if mankind lasted forever and a day, that I had seen its finest hour in my field of interest. (By the way, the guy who wrote The Skulls also wrote Rollerball, which may never be released at the rate it is currently progressing) Luckily for my sense of humor, while the upper limit of human intelligence appears to have a ceiling, stupidity has no bounds. American Outlaws may not be as dumb as The Skulls, but it's not from lack of tryin'. Gosh, those James boys, what cut-ups they were. Why, they'd rob a bank, then sit around a campfire, and toast some marshmallows that they bought from 7-Eleven, and have a good old laugh about the events of the day. And then they'd exchange some pleasant, literate banter about their status. Should they call it the James Gang, the James-Younger gang? The Younger-James Gang? Certainly not the latter, because everyone would ask them whatever happened to the OLDER James Gang. And then some members of the gang would pitch a blue fit because their names were getting misspelled in the papers, or their wanted posters didn't look like them, or the bounties on their heads weren't as high as the rewards for the other guys in the gang. But, shucks, they had fun. |
Yup, then after a discussion, they'd turn up the radio, listen to some good rock tunes, and catch some shut-eye. |
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Heck, they had a lot to do the next day. First of all, there was keeping their capped teeth in perfect condition, not an easy task in 19th century Missoorah. Then there was that dry-look they preferred in their hairstyles, which took a lot of time in the morning routine after a hard night of sleeping in pig vomit. And then there was the two or three hours they spent in the gyms every day with their personal trainers, to maintain their buff physiques. Yup, that 19th century Old West was a time of great luxury for the simple folk, and they took the time to kick back and enjoy it. But it wasn't all fun and games, nosireebob. Sometimes they'd be captured by the Army or the Pinkertons, and led to the gallows. Then they'd have to have their hair done by someone else while their hands were bound, waiting for the inevitable daring last-minute rescue from their fellow gang members, followed by a manly exchange of high-fives, and an outraged fax to the local army commander. At one point in this film, the Pinkertons have Jesse chained up like Hannibal Lecter, but heck, that just makes 'im mad, so he kills about twelve or thirteen hundred of them. I would tell you how he escapes from the chains, but you'd think I was kidding, and there's no way I could think up something less likely than what really happened. |
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So you see the essential historical lesson here. They weren't the James-Younger Gang, but the James-Younger Band. They were, in fact, the very first boy band. There was the smart one, and the shy one, and the born leader, and the one with a fiery temper. And you would never catch these guys in those dowdy old cowboy hats, nosiree. Hats leave those messy sweatband marks on your hair when you take 'em off to flash your smile. I'm not sure how to grade this film. If it was meant to be a Western adventure, clearly it is a D or an E. On the other hand, if it was meant to be a parody of the Western genre, ala Blazing Saddles, then it succeeded somewhat, because I laughed at quite a few things in the movie. The only problem is, I don't think that's when I was supposed to laugh. I think it was actually meant to be a jokey buddy Western, a modernization of Butch Cassidy for the MTV generation, in the same spirit as Shanghai Noon. Unfortunately, the great charismatic stars needed to pull that off were not available. Do this again with George Clooney and Owen Wilson, and it might have enough panache to connect, but not with these MTV people. By the way, do you remember when I reviewed the brilliant Tigerland and said Colin Farrell was a sure bet to become a star? Oops. He was Jesse in this film. I still have hope for him, but that may not prove to be one of my better predictions. |
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