Stop the presses: ‘State of Play’ works for me

Three out of four stars (Rated PG-13 for some violence, language including sexual references, and brief drug content) Running time: 127 minutes. Reviewed at The Woodlands Tinseltown 17 on April 17.

Newspapers and I go back a long time. Dating back to grammar school I’ve been reading a daily newspaper, impatiently waiting every morning at 5 o’clock for the paper to hit the driveway.

Yet when I poll my students as to whether they read a newspaper, typically only a few hands go up. Several students routinely sit in class checking their BlackBerry, while others catch the news online later on in the day or they don’t follow the news much at all.

That in a nutshell explains the current dismal state of the newspaper industry. Several dailies have gone under recently and now even our local daily combines the business section with city and state news on certain days. Advertising revenue has dropped dramatically, partly because of the recession but in larger part due to competition with the online Craig’s List.

Going back to “The Front Page” in 1931, the magic of newspapering has been well represented on the silver screen. “Citizen Kane” was Orson Welles’ thumb to the eye of media mogul William Randolph Hearst, while Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell played married reporters for laughs in “His Girl Friday.” Oscar-winner “All the President’s Men” still serves as the gold standard of cinematic excellence portraying Woodward and Bernstein’s expose of the Watergate scandal.

Now there is the new political thriller “State of Play,” which reminds me a lot of “The Parallax View.” Based on a recent BBC mini-series, scruffy Washington Globe reporter Cal McAffrey (Russell Crowe) covers the nighttime murder of two people in the Georgetown section of Washington D.C.

Then a train hits a congressional staffer—suicide is offered as the likely cause—except she was the lead researcher on Congressman Stephen Collins’ (Ben Affleck) special committee investigating an unscrupulous security contractor with dealings in Iraq (think Blackwater).

And wouldn’t you know it—Collins and McAffrey were college buddies, McAffrey still has a thing for Collins’ babe wife Anne (Robin Wright Penn), and Collins was having an extramarital affair with the now deceased staffer. Immediately both cable television and the blogosphere jump into action.

Collins is a presidential aspirant, so an alleged dalliance with a staffer is fodder for the ratings. Chris Matthews weighs in with his nonstop motor mouth, and even Lou Dobbs pauses from his usual rants at illegal immigration and factory closings to give his two cents worth.

But let’s not forget those stodgy newspapers—the Globe has been acquired by a conglomerate and the prickly editor (Helen Mirren) wants to boost daily circulation. She orders both Cal and the young upstart blogger Della Frye (Rachel McAdams) to get the scoop.

The plot has more twists than a soft pretzel. But the heart of the story revolves around this unlikely merger of the past—Cal drives a 1990 Saab, wears clothes that would be refused by the Salvation Army, keeps a bottle of whiskey in his desk drawer, and combs his hair like Shemp Howard—with the present, represented by Della and her forever-blogging ways.

Though the story is outlandish, it’s Crowe’s terrific performance that carries the movie. While his accent sometimes wavers between the South Bronx and South Australia, the Oscar winner is compelling to watch on screen and his off-beat character as multilayered as the Sunday edition.

‘Hannah Montana’ wigs out in Tennessee

Three out of four stars (Rated G) Running time: 102 minutes. Reviewed at The Woodlands Tinseltown 17 on April 10.

I keep a favorite cartoon on my office door penned by Mike Peters for his “Mother Goose and Grimm” comic strip.  In it a lady at the Daily Planet points her finger at Clark Kent and yells, “Hey…wait a minute…you’re Superman!” followed by the caption, “Clark Kent makes the ill-fated decision to wear contacts.”

I see great similarity of that cartoon with the extremely lucrative “Hannah Montana” franchise.  While I’ve never watched so much as one minute of the popular Disney Channel series or seen the blockbuster Hannah Montana 3-D concert movie last year, I really find it incredulous that an aspiring pop singer can put on a blonde wig and maintain an alter-ego personality unbeknownst to anyone except her family and close friends.

Now we have “Hannah Montana: The Movie.”  The usher warned me—“this place has been overrun with little girls.”  No problem—I’m a veteran of similar fare, having previously endured Britney Spears’ “Crossroads” and Mariah Carey’s “Glitter” along with Lindsay Lohan and Ashlee Simpson movies, too.

Into the mega-stadium I went, the only adult male sitting alone amongst a packed house of overly excited pre-adolescent girls with their moms and a few scattered dads, and some teens, including the young lady sitting next to me who text-messaged during the entire movie.

We meet Miley Cyrus, playing Miley Stewart, who in turn is the superstar pop singer Hannah Montana when wearing a blonde wig from the Early Dolly Parton Collection.  “She’s the most popular teenager in the world!” says her publicist (Vanessa Williams).

Ah, but Miley’s father Robby Ray Stewart (Billy Ray Cyrus, her real life father) is concerned that the good life in Beverly Hills is going to her head. 

Oh, you mean like Miley having a catfight with Tyra Banks in an exclusive shoe store over a pair of high heels that ends up in all the tabloids?  Or Miley stiffing her best bud Lilly’s sixteenth birthday party at the Santa Monica Pier? (My twins are lucky to get the party room at McDonalds.)

Robby Ray pirates Miley away on a private jet bound for a music awards show in New York—she actually complains about the size of the bathroom on board—and sets down in her hometown of Crowley Corner, Tennessee.  “We’re taking Hannah Montana away from you,” he says.  In other words, Robby Ray wants Miley to get away from the spotlight and return to her country roots—for two weeks, or at least until the next royalties check arrives in the mail.

Miley’s country roots aren’t too shabby.  Grandma’s spread dwarfs the Ponderosa. Plus there’s a young hunk ranch hand named Travis (Lucas Till) who had all the girls in the audience screaming in adoration.

The table is set for rest of the movie.  Miley meets a boy, Robby Ray meets a woman, a developer plans to build a mall and destroy the ambience of Crowley Corner—still undiscovered by Wal-Mart and evidently not wired yet for cable television, since none of the natives can figure out that Miley is really Hannah Montana.  Of course Hannah finally shows up to belt out some songs at a fundraiser.

In other words, it’s a pretty dumb, predictable story, at least to a suburban sophisticate such as myself.  But for a ten year-old girl, the target audience, “Hannah Montana: The Movie” is good, clean G-rated fun without so much as one wet kiss.  Yee-haw!

‘Adventureland’ is an amusing coming-of-age tale

Three out of four stars (Rated R for language, drug use, and sexual references) Running time: 106 minutes.  Reviewed at The Woodlands Tinseltown 17 on April 3.

In 1976 I sold dictation machines for an office equipment company, trying to save enough money to attend graduate school.

Totally out of my element and comfort zone of life, I befriended a small cadre of rival salespeople who became my support group for failure.  We would meet at Denny’s for coffee a couple of mornings a week and exchange dead end sales leads while gabbing mostly about women and sports.  Then lunch would roll along and we’d all call it a day and go home or head back to the office. 

My total sales commissions for two months of futility amounted to $12.

That’s why salesmen in despair movies like David Mamet’s “Glengarry Glen Ross” and Barry Levinson’s “Tin Men” are personal favorites.  While I flopped miserably at that line of work, the experience helped pave the way for what eventually became my career—only in my case I took the extended scenic route.

It’s also why I enjoyed “Adventureland,” the new coming-of-age comedy that opened this past week.   Writer-director Greg Mottola (“Superbad”) based the story on his experiences as a young college graduate working for a summer at a low rent amusement park in Long Island while he weighed his career options.

We are introduced to James Brennan (Jesse Eisenberg of “The Squid and the Whale”), just graduated from college with plans to spend the summer 1987 in Europe and then onto Columbia University to study journalism.  The problem is his father has been demoted and the money isn’t there to pursue either venture.

Stuck with his parents in suburban Pittsburgh, James has to go to work—oh, the agony—to help underwrite the cost of his own graduate school education.  James obviously spent too much time in the library reading Kant because he has no discernible job skills—“I’m not even qualified for manual labor,” he laments. 

Ah, but there is one employer of last resort in town—Adventureland, a run down amusement park run by a married couple named Bobby (Bill Hader) and Paulette (Kristen Wiig).  There are two job opportunities: games or rides, so stated on different color employee t-shirts.  James wants to work rides, which is light duty, but Bobby places him in games—“You’re more of a game guy.”

Except that the games for the most part are rigged so that no one wins. 

But the heart of the story is based on James coming out of his pot-smoking cocoon existence and learning about life in the real world.  He interacts with the wacky employees who have more of a day-to-day outlook rather than any goals or plans.

One such employee is the four-eyed egghead Joel (Martin Starr) who astutely puts things into perspective: “We are doing the work of pathetic morons.”

Another is the brooding Em (Kristen Stewart of “Twilight”).  She maintains a secretive romantic dalliance with the married maintenance worker Connell (Ryan Reynolds), who claims to have jammed with Lou Reed.  Virginal James falls for Em, who carries a load of emotional baggage from the tragic loss of her mother two years earlier.

“Adventureland” is not an outlandish comedy like “Superbad.”  Uneven and downright bumpy at times, it’s a reflective look at life in the 80’s, backed by a terrific soundtrack—“Rock Me, Amadeus” and the like—and enough chuckles to justify two hours of your life.

Better to go the 3-D route for ‘Monsters vs. Aliens’

Three out of four stars (Rated PG for sci-fi action, some crude humor and mild language) Running time: 94 minutes.  Reviewed at The Woodlands Tinseltown 17 on March 27.

“Can 3-D Save Hollywood?” asked the Wall Street Journal in an entertainment story last weekend.  Movie ticket sales have dropped over the past decade, particularly last year when the economy turned south.  So studios and theater chains are looking for a new hook to pump up their profits.  The same thing happened in the 1950s when the advent of television sent the motion picture industry reeling (bad pun), but with limited effect.

According to the WSJ story as many as 45 3-D films will be released in the next two and one-half to three years, so keep those funky 3-D glasses handy, folks.

The newest 3-D entry is the DreamWorks Animation “Monsters vs. Aliens,” a funny though sometimes violent spoof of 1950s science-fiction fare.  First I sat through the 2-D version, which was playing on three screens at our local multiplex.  I was underwhelmed by what I saw comparing the movie to animated titans as Disney-Pixar’s “Finding Nemo” and “Cars.”

Then I watched the 3-D version and was blown away by the production quality.  There is something magical about watching a well-made 3-D feature film—even one with a less than stellar script—to listen to the ooh’s and ahs and giggles generated by kids in a sold-out theater, all wearing their 3-D glasses.  With “Monsters vs. Aliens” there were plenty of them, at least enough to justify the extra bucks to see the 3-D version. 

The story opens in Modesto, California, where spunky Susan (voice of Reese Witherspoon) is about to marry local TV weatherman Derek (Paul Rudd). On her wedding day, a giant meteor strikes Susan.   Lo and behold, during the ceremony Susan grows uncontrollably to 49 feet—thus bringing to mind the schlocky “Attack of the 50 Foot Woman” of yesteryear. 

In comes the government to the rescue—we’ve been hearing that a lot lately—and Susan is detained in a secret military installation commandeered by General W.R. Monger (Kiefer Sutherland).  It seems for the past 50 years or so the government has been sequestering away a variety of monsters. Susan—now named Ginormica—meets each of these lovable critters.

There is a one-eyed, dimwitted light blue blob of Jell-o named B.O.B. (Seth Rogen); a diminutive half-man, half cockroach known as Dr. Cockroach, Ph.D. (Hugh Laurie); the Missing Link (Will Arnett), sort of a Creature From the Black Lagoon clone; and finally the giant Mothra-prototype Insectosaurus that emits a strange noise like the guitar riff from the Smiths’ “How Soon Is Now.”

The General promises the long-detained quintet their freedom if they will do battle with an invader from outer space, the four-eyed (literally), six-legged Galaxhar (Rainn Wilson).  The military cannot stop Galaxhar with its arsenal, so the President (a funny Stephen Colbert) gives his approval to the plan.

San Francisco and the Golden Gate Bridge do not fare well in the resultant battle, which is truly spectacular to watch in 3-D.  This is a mild version of “Mars Attacks,” toned down but violent enough to earn the film a PG-rating.

Coming soon on the 3-D horizon: coming attractions featured the next “Ice Age,” Disney-Pixar’s “Up,” “Battle for Terra,” and “Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs.”  The latter’s plop of spaghetti falling from the sky earned the biggest “ewww!” from the young audience.

‘I Love You, Man’ funny enough to recommend

Three out of four stars (Rated R for pervasive language, including crude and sexual references) Running time: 105 minutes.  Reviewed at The Woodlands Tinseltown 17 on March 20.

A scheduling quirk forced me to take a pass on the Julia Roberts adventure-thriller “Duplicity” to see instead the bromance comedy “I Love You, Man.” 

First things first—I had no idea what a “bromance” was until my much more hip wife explained it to me.  MTV has been airing a reality show called “Bromance” described at Imdb.com as: “Guys compete in a series of challenges that test the limits of male bonding for a chance to become part of a reality star’s entourage.”  Huh?

Further, she explained, there was another reality show titled “Paris Hilton’s My New BFF” in which the promiscuous socialite auditioned young ladies to become her new BFF—that’s Best Friend Forever, for the uninitiated. 

This modern day lingo is so confusing to a Truman baby (as in Harry S).  I’ve maintained a thirty-year close, trusting friendship with a buddy in North Carolina—he calls me “Mr. Bowes” and I call him “Mr. Pitney,” names we adopted from a series of radio commercials in the early 80’s for the postage meter company.  Yet I’ve never thought of our relationship as a “man-crush.”  That sounds rather violent to me.

In the movie “I Love You, Man,” we are introduced to late 20-something straight arrow Peter Klaven (Paul Rudd), a Los Angeles realtor.  He proposes marriage to the fetching Zooey Rice (Rashida Jones of “The Office”), who immediately hits the cell phone to inform her network of gal pals.

The problem with Peter, however, is that he has no close male friends—not a dude, bro or homeboy to be found.  Someone has to be his best man for the upcoming June wedding.  An acquaintance sums up Peter’s plight with, “I honestly believe that his best friend is his mom.”

Peter auditions men to see if one might emerge to become his best dude and serve as best man at his wedding.  While that doesn’t like enough to justify the liberation of ten bucks from your wallet, it is.

After a series of hilarious “man-dates” arranged by Peter’s gay brother Robbie (Andy Samberg), Peter has an innocent encounter with the slovenly Sydney Fife (Jason Segel, the same actor who displayed his private parts in Judd Apatow’s “Forgetting Sarah Marshall”). 

They meet at the open house of Lou Ferrigno’s mansion.  If Peter gets a healthy commission check from the sale of the Ferrigno estate, he can buy a tract of land and build a dream home for Zooey—or something like that. 

What drives the movie is the bond that forms between this modern day Odd Couple—stick in the mud Peter, matched with the hang loose Sydney, who will remind many of Bill Murray’s offbeat character in “Caddyshack.”  Sydney, purporting to be an investments broker, lives in a small house complete with a “man-cave” featuring a bong, drum set, guitars and amps, and his self-designed “masturbation chair” (don’t ask).

The script from director John Hamburg and Larry Levin is formulaic, but the laughs flow from the manly man things that Peter discovers as his friendship with the complete opposite Sydney grows.  One thing they have in common: a complete adoration of the Canadian rock band Rush.

This is Judd Apatow material with Apatow nowhere to be found.  But it is funny.

Rock-filled ‘Witch Mountain’ is hardly a gem

Two out of four stars (Rated PG for sequences of action and violence, frightening and dangerous situations) Running time: 99 minutes.  Reviewed at Cinemark Market Street on March 13.

In 1975 Disney released a science fiction adventure movie called “Escape to Witch Mountain,” starring Eddie Albert as a nice old widower who befriends two orphans with paranormal powers.  At the end the two kids take off in a flying saucer. 

That was followed several years later by the sequel called “Return to Witch Mountain,” memorable only because it starred Bette Davis in a rapid descent—call it a nosedive—from her illustrious film career.

Neither title resonated as classic children movie fare—certainly not in the “E.T.” bracket—but that doesn’t appear to have deterred the Magic Kingdom from reaching down deep into the well again.  Now we have “Race to Witch Mountain,” not quite a remake of the first two but the story remains the same.

This time the action shifts to Las Vegas, where ex-con cab driver Jack Bruno (former professional wrestler Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson) picks up two mysterious (aren’t they all?) teens named Seth (Alexander Ludwig) and Sara (AnnaSophia Robb).  Off they drive into the desert, pursued by Department of Defense employees mimicking the Keystone Kops, led by the sinister Henry Burke (Ciaran Hinds).

Seth and Sara are illegal aliens of the extraterrestrial variety, arriving in a flying saucer now being stored in Witch Mountain, a government facility probably funded by a Congressional earmark.  They’ve come to Earth on a mission to save their planet 3,000 light years away, pursued in turn by some oversized alien enforcer that looks like the Creature from the Black Lagoon after taking some serious anabolic steroids.

First things first, however—thirty minutes into the movie and dim bulb Jack still hasn’t figured out their identity, this coming after overt displays of power that no human could possibly perform.  One involves Seth zapping himself out of the cab during a high-speed chase to stop a Chevrolet Avalanche head on. 

Not to mention that when Seth and Sara talk, they always inject the cabbie’s name: “Jack Bruno, the vehicles behind us are indicating a pattern of pursuit,” or “Jack Bruno, it is understandable that you scared and confused given the turn of events.”

Finally a chase ensues between the cab and a flying saucer through a mountain tunnel in which, you guessed it, the cab escapes but the saucer collides with an oncoming freight train.

At that point Jack is still clueless.  Then Sara does a levitation trick with some loose change and he finally gets the picture.  Oh, did you know that Sara also reads minds?  Problem is with Jack she doesn’t have much material to work with.

Jack and a comely astrophysicist named Alex (Carla Gugino) try to help the two aliens return to their spaceship, fending off government agents, mobsters, the alien enforcer, and a gathering of costumed space cadets at a UFO convention.  There’s lots of gunfire (nothing hits), loud explosions, and more high-speed chases.

Of course “The Rock” gets to display his wrestling talents, taking on the alien enforcer as though he was tangling with Triple H.  The Samoan Drop might help him do the trick.

Note:  The movie marks the return of the two young actors from the original.  40-something Kim Richards, aunt of Paris Hilton, plays a waitress, while Ike Eisenmann appears as the sheriff.  His father was “Cadet Don” on Channel 13 back in the 1960’s.

For the initiated ‘Watchmen’ is worth the time

Four out of four stars (Rated R for strong graphic violence, sexuality, nudity, and language) Running time: 162 minutes. Reviewed at Cinemark Market Street on March 6.

When the seventh and final installment of the “Harry Potter” series was released to the public at midnight on July 21, 2007, a gent that I teach with—call him John—was there at a bookstore to purchase his copy. 

He proceeded to read the book and gave me a full report the following Monday as to its contents.   There are people like John that enjoy science fiction adventure stuff such as “The Matrix” and the “Lord of the Rings” trilogies.  I’m not one of them.

So it didn’t surprise me when I asked John on Friday if he was familiar with the “Watchmen” series that had been made into the movie I was going to see later that morning.  Of course he was familiar with it, going one step further by rattling off the details as though he had just read the thing.  John told me about the superheroes story set in 1985 with Richard Nixon in the White House and the United States about to go to nuclear war with the Soviet Union. It piqued my interest. 

Zack Snyder of the gore-fest “300” also directed “Watchmen,” so I knew the graphic violence would be there on full display. 

My enjoyment would have benefitted by reading the Wikipedia description of the DC Comics series released in 1986 (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Watchmen).  As far as the storyline of the graphic novel series is concerned, “Watchmen” skips few details in its lengthy (162 minutes) adaptation.

But let me make this disclaimer—if gore is not your thing, steer clear of this one. 

As described earlier, the setting is October 1985.  Yes, Tricky Dick is still occupying the White House with his cabinet officer Dr. Henry Kissinger, scheming to defeat the archrival Soviet Union in the Cold War.  The world seems dark and dreary, similar to that shown in “Dark City.”  Many 1985 icons appear—“The McLaughlin Group” gives commentary and analysis, Lee Iacocca is there offering his K-car and a rebate check, and get this—Vietnam has given up the fight and joined the United States. 

The brutal murder of a superhero/vigilante named the Comedian (Jeffrey Dean Morgan) brings back together a gang of masked, spandex-clad superheroes called the Watchmen.  One of them, Rorschach (Jackie Earl Haley) wears a mask that looks like an evolving inkblot.  He suspects that there is a plot to eliminate the old gang and in turn the rest of the world.

Only one Watchmen has superpowers, that being the (literally) all-blue, out of this world Dr. Manhattan (Billy Crudup), who parades around in his birthday suit and takes up occasional residence on Mars (don’t ask).

There’s also the hottie Silk Spectre II (Malin Ackerman), Dr. Manhattan’s former squeeze but now taking up residence with the dweeb Nite Owl II (Patrick Wilson).  That leaves Ozymandias (Matthew Goode), who in his daytime job is the wealthy industrialist Adrian Veidt.  Even the uninitiated can figure out he is up to no good.

The resultant violence is laid on thick—there is both a street riot and prison riot, blood flows freely, hands are amputated, a head is split in two with a meat cleaver, bones are crunched, and glass—lots of glass—gets broken with chilling effects. 

Mixed in among the violent action is some heavy-duty philosophical mumbo jumbo that quite honestly flew over my bald noggin.  I’ll likely see “Watchmen” a second time during spring break when I have the time.

Low rent ‘Echelon Conspiracy’ needs a stimulus check

One out of four stars (Rated PG-13 for sequences of intense violence and action, some sexuality, and brief language) Running time: 106 minutes. Reviewed at Cinemark Market Street on February 27.

“You can observe a lot by watching,” Yogi Berra said. Last week I saw the trailer for a new comedy movie scheduled to open in April called “Observe and Report” starring Seth Rogen as—get this—a mall cop.

Wait a minute—I thought the highest grossing movie this year has been “Paul Blart: Mall Cop.” Two mall cop movies in three months?

“It was déjà vu all over again,” Yogi Berra also said. I got that feeling watching “Echelon Conspiracy,” which opened on Friday. Last September the popular conspiracy thriller “Eagle Eye” opened with its “big brother is watching you” theme wrapped around chase scenes and endless car crashes.

“Echelon Conspiracy” is a pale imitation of “Eagle Eye,” not exactly a good movie to begin with. The hero makes his way through exotic locations—Bangkok, Sofia, Prague, and Moscow—frequently looking up at menacing surveillance cameras that track his every move, reminiscent of HAL the homicidal supercomputer of “2001.”

Max Peterson (Shane West)—a hybrid clone of Chandler Bing and Ensign Pulver—is a computer engineer whose specialty is security encryption. On assignment in Bangkok, he receives a strange package that contains a cool looking new cell phone device—you know, those things that people in darkened theaters use to annoy other patrons because they are forever checking their messages during the movie.

Ah, but this is a magical cell phone that sends messages to Max from an unknown source. First, he is warned to stay in Bangkok for an extra night and book another flight out. Bingo! What do you know—the plane he was supposed to take crashes and all 126 on board are killed.

Time out here—normally under such circumstances the person whose life was spared by missing an ill-fated flight would be buying drinks for the house, filling up the collection plate at church, and giving interviews to Katie Couric. As haphazardly directed by Greg Marcks, nope, Max just plunges onto the next scene.

Max gets another text message telling him to buy a stock that proceeds to go up three-fold the next day. Then he’s advised to go to a casino in Prague and winds up winning three million Euros, aided by these strange text messages.

Up to this point we have an interesting movie. But the story comes apart at the seams when the unknown source of information turns out to be the National Security Agency supercomputer “Echelon” run amuck.

The casino detective Reed (a wooden Edward Burns) and FBI agent Grant (Ving Rhames, stiff as a cardboard target at a shooting range) give chase to Max.

Directing traffic from afar is the NSA director Burke played by Martin Sheen, acting as though he is appearing in a different movie. An over caffeinated Burke screams uncontrollably at his employees and makes a perfect candidate for one of those “Want to get away?” airline commercials.  This guy makes Dick Cheney look warm and cuddly.

Burke is no doubt a Bush appointee, judging by Dubya’s portrait hanging proudly on the wall. Unlike Brownie, however, he sure isn’t doing a heck of a job overseeing our national intelligence gathering. 

There are obligatory chase scenes, gunfire, and cheesy explosions that seem to be tacked on as wakeup calls for the audience, who have by this point lost any interest in the confusing story.

Raunchy ‘Fired Up’ won’t have you doing cartwheels

 Two out of four stars (Rated PG-13 for crude and sexual content throughout, partial nudity, language and some teen partying) Running time: 90 minutes. Reviewed at The Woodlands Tinseltown 17 on February 20.

Walking into the mega-stadium for a barely attended late afternoon show of “Fired Up,” I happened to glance up at the sign above the entryway doors that said it all: “2 Guys—300 Girls—Now there’s something to cheer about!” Yes, that just about said it all. I knew what I was walking into beforehand—another raunchy teen sex comedy.

Perhaps this genre owes its origin to the inadvertently hilarious mental hygiene films that misbegotten teens suffered through in the public schools in the 50s and 60s—“Are You Popular?” was my particular favorite, though the message obviously never stuck.

Some brilliant Hollywood studio bigwig came up with the idea of featuring clean cut Elvis Presley as an action hero, only to pause long enough to lip-sync several songs. Then teen movies moved to the beaches in California, where Frankie Avalon and Annette Funicello romped in the sand centered on some lame-brained plot involving bikinis, bikers like Eric Von Zipper, and musical performances from the hottest acts.

This was all innocent, family-friendly fare suitable for drive-in movie theaters. Then came the release of “Animal House” in 1978 followed by “Porky’s” a couple of years later. Both movies brought in the element of raunchy sexual hanky-panky that has evolved today into what some might think is R-rated material but manages to fly under the radar to earn a PG-13 rating in order to help boost ticket sales.

In a script credited to the pen name Freedom Jones (don’t confuse him, her or them with O. Henry), two sexually supercharged high school football players shirk summer training camp in hot El Paso in order to attend a three-week cheerleader camp at a college in downstate Illinois.

Shawn (Nicholas D’Agosto) is the more sensitive one of the two while his partner-in-crime Nick (Eric Christian Olsen) is an incorrigible womanizer. I wondered where I had seen Mr. Olsen before—he has a Jim Carrey rubbery face with a Kato Kaelin blonde coiffure. Then it dawned upon me—this is the same actor who played Lloyd Christmas in the “Dumb and Dumberer: When Harry Met Lloyd” prequel six years ago. Ye gad—how old are these actors playing teenagers? Oh, never mind.

Following formula like a science experiment, the two end up at cheerleader camp. Shawn becomes smitten with cheerleader captain Carly (Sarah Roemer, a strawberry blonde clone of Gwyneth Paltrow), who knows the score.

Meanwhile Shawn is attracted to camp counselor Diora, the hottie wife of blowhard camp leader Coach Keith (John Michael Higgins).

That’s the plot in a nutshell, barely enough to fill 90 minutes. To fill in the gaps we are subjected to a skinny-dipping scene, cheerleader routines with halter tops and tight shorts, gay and lesbian bashing, misogynistic humor, and a blaring soundtrack.

I’ll credit the sometimes-smart dialogue that suggests a modicum of brainpower is at work: the students attend Gerald R. Ford High School—“a below average president with above average students.”

Even John Lennon gets a mention—“You know what John Lennon said, “ Carly remarks to Shawn during a walk. “Not really,” responds Shawn, “I’m not in my 50s.”

Were Lennon alive to hear his lyrics being used in a teen comedy, he might respond, “Strange days, indeed. Most peculiar, mama.”

Confessions of a Shopaholic’ won’t charge you up

Two out of four stars (Rated PG for some mild language and thematic elements) Running time: 105 minutes.  Reviewed at The Woodlands Tinseltown 17 on February 13.

Several years ago the political and economic commentator Ben Stein chastised us for our poor savings habits.  This came at a time when the average savings rate of Americans dipped into a negative figure.  We should save our money, Ben said, rather than blowing several grand on a plasma TV.  “Come out and join me on the golf course,” he said with calming nonchalance, as though putting money away in an IRA would easily get you a house in Beverly Hills like Ben’s.

Yet a couple of months ago Ben Stein appeared on “CBS Sunday Morning” to lecture us that we should all go out and spend like crazy during the holiday season to stimulate the flagging U.S. economy, as though it was our patriotic duty to do so. 

Ah, but times have changed, haven’t they?  One thing hasn’t though—Ben Stein will say just about anything to get his hound dog mug on TV. 

Which leads me to “Confessions of a Shopaholic,” the new screwball comedy that opened the other day.  Based on the best-selling novel by Sophie Kinsella, this one has “chick flick” written all over it as big as the MetLife blimp that floats over golf tournaments.  I must confess I hated “Confessions” but to be fair there was much laughter from the mostly female audience at the opening show. 

I guess I just don’t understand women.

But USA Today movie critic Claudia Puig, who by all accounts is a woman, ripped this one apart in her one star review:  “How could any studio be so out of touch as to release a movie glorifying the compulsive shopping habits of an air-headed spendthrift during this dismal state in the global economy?”

Good question.  Yet there is a precedent for such movie fare during depressed economic times.  Many screwball comedies were made in the 1930s when close to one-fourth of the workforce was unemployed and many families ended up out on the sidewalk with their possessions.  Even today, people in financial distress still buy movie tickets to forget their troubles, if just for a couple of hours.

So my less than ebullient review of “Confessions of a Shopaholic” comes not from the timing of its release; the trouble lies with the script and the witless dialogue.

Rebecca Bloomwood (Isla Fisher of “Wedding Crashers”) is a 20-something Manhattan journalist who lives for clothes.  She charges up a storm on credit cards for said purchases, but when her magazine folds, so does her source of income.

In a totally incredulous turn of events—think of me getting a Pulitzer Prize for this column—material girl Rebecca first ends up as a financial columnist for a savings magazine; then her column called “The Girl in the Green Scarf” (so named for the purchase of a $120 green scarf on overdrawn credit cards) earns her international acclaim and a spot on a TV show; finally, she ends up in a predictable romance with her enabler magazine editor (Hugh Dancy in the Hugh Grant role).

All the while she lies, cheats, two times her best friend (Krysten Ritter), and runs up a $16,000 unpaid balance on credit cards.  The laughs only come from Ms. Fisher’s physical pratfalls—be it walking into a door, knocking over a tray of food, or grabbing a pair of marked down Gucci boots from another shopper at a sale.

On this one the better choice is to window shop.