Drop Dead Sexy (2006) from Tuna and Johnny Web (Uncle Scoopy; Greg Wroblewski) |
Drop Dead Sexy is an eccentric comedy about dumb criminals, featuring Jason Lee and Crispin Glover, presumably because Michael Rappaport was busy. The title is related to the fact that they spend a good portion of their time schlepping around a recently-deceased babe. Lee plays an unemployed slacker and Glover portrays a gravedigger who is not only dim-witted, but a barely functioning alcoholic as well. At least he's not fat, so he managed to follow one part of Dean Wormer's famous advice. The lads get hoodwinked by a crime lord into driving some cigarettes across the border, but their truck blows up on them, and all the cigarettes are destroyed. Since they used their own truck, the mobster considers them responsible for the shipment, and they find themselves in debt to a violent crime kingpin to the tune of a quarter of a million dollars. Between them they can't come up with a quarter of one dollar, so their only hope to pay off the obligation is to commit additional crimes. The gravedigger remembers that a rich man's wife was wearing a priceless necklace when she was buried, so they reason that they need only to dig her up, steal the necklace, fence it, and pay off their debts. I'll bet you've guessed that it isn't going to be that simple. It's one of those movies where nothing is as it seems, except for the fact that the woman is really dead, which turns out to be a real problem for our boys, since an incident involving the cemetery's night watchman leaves the lads unable to return her to her grave after the exhumation. They lug her corpse around for the rest of the film's running time. The gravedigger complicates matters still further because he has sexual longings for the corpse. At one point he has a lovely conversation about such longings with the coroner (Brad Dourif), who has his own favorite corpse all washed and ready. About halfway through, the film morphs from a silly "dumb crooks" comedy into a too-serious murder mystery. It seems that the dead girl drowned, as the police suspected. Only one problem. The cops found her in a lake, and she drowned in heavily chlorinated water. Somehow, our boys get hooked into bringing the swimming pool killer to justice, which works out quite well for them, since it turns out to be the same crime lord who holds their IOU. The story would have been sufficient just as I have described it, but there are many more characters and sub-plots. There are so many, in fact, that they often seem to contradict one another. The dead rich woman's best friend, who is the film's only really sympathetic character, is offended when Jason Lee insults her dead friend, and talks about how the deceased was really a wonderful, soulful person who married the rich guy because he truly cared for her. Yet in other scenes, we see that she really was the scheming golddigger Jason Lee had accused her of being. I have a feeling that they must have rewritten and re-edited this film many, many times, had remnants of many versions, and couldn't quite fit the various remnants together coherently. The poor fit resulted from the fact that the screenwriters (there are three credited) just couldn't seem to agree on whether the film should be one of those excessively complicated film noirs or an outright farce, and it ended up an uneasy hybrid of the two. Imagine if Abbott and Costello were to replace Humphrey Bogart in the Big Sleep, had all the other characters remained the same. That's the general idea. It's not a great comedy, but there are a few laughs and a couple of memorable scenes. You have to love a scene where two of cinema's oddest actors, Brad Dourif and Crispin Glover, relax in romantic candlelight, sip white wine, and discuss the merits of a naked corpse. In general, it's fun to watch Glover in this. This is the first time I've ever seen him with a significant speaking part in which his character was nothing like Crispin Glover - and with a deep southern accent to boot! He was as loopy as ever, but in a completely new way. |
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