 Mallrats (1995) And the film has some near-Marx Brothers pacing, propelled forward from one ridiculous setup to another on the sort of giddy energy you get when former frat brothers get together to talk about the good old days. But as with all of Kevin Smith's films, Mallrats is staged and shot worse than the average Friday-night sitcom, and the writing is so clunky and forced that even the more appealing performers among the cast (Claire Forlani, Shannen Doherty, and Lee the younger) end up sounding like they've got an Elvis Costello album crammed into their mouths. The plot is lighthearted, and it probably makes for a good flick to smoke weed to, but there is so much to dislike along the way that, high or not, you just come away feeling like you've been yelled at for two hours. Smith can be a decent writer, for comic books at least, but he's absolutely incapable of creating interesting, well-defined characters … as with Woody Allen, everyone espouses the same viewpoint (the writer's). He has much to say about comics and films that everyone's seen, but his ideas about weightier subjects—sex, love, relationships, loyalty, obsession—would probably be articulated more insightfully and sensitively by a 12-year-old boy. Making matters worse is that Smith clearly thinks of himself as clever, and apparently has an ample posse to back him up. Characters overlap from movie to movie, creating a fiercely-protected bubbleworld that seems to think it's beyond criticism. It isn't, because the films just aren't competent. Maybe one day Smith will team with a seasoned writing partner, and/or take some real instruction on directing from a filmmaker who's made a livelihood outside of working at a video store. This movie has its moments, but mostly comes across like a rancid high-school variety show sketch, written by the class misfit in an attempt to get everyone to see things his way at last, and love him for it. Better to get outside every once in awhile and quit jerking off so much.
Review by Johnnie Bourgeois |