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Moonlight Mile
(Reviewed August 9, 2002)
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If you enjoyed the abysmally wretched "The Royal Tenenbaums," which easily made my "10 Worst of 2001" list, maybe you'll like this endlessly unamusing would-be black comedy written and directed
by TV hack Brad Silberling ("Judging Amy," "Felicity"). On the other hand, if you can't stand smug, quirky, pointless scripts full of unconvincing and off-putting eccentrics portrayed by scenery-gobbling
actors who can't seem to remember if they are in "Northern Exposure," "Coyote Ugly" or "Ordinary People," stay far, far away from this instantly forgettable flick.
Dustin Hoffman shuffles, mumbles and stares blankly into space a lot as the husband of brassy, wisecracking, please-go-away-forever Susan Sarandon. They play the parents of a murdered girl
who was supposed to marry Jake Gyllenhaal (the poor man's Tobey Maguire), who now inexplicably lives with his would-have-been in-laws. (Lord only knows where Jake's character's own family
members are, or what they think of this arrangement.) Jake falls for Ellen Pompeo, one of those skinny, vulgar, asexual-but-hot blond chicks with a smart mouth and a guy's name ("Bertie," in this case)
who populate horrible TV shows all over the dial, constantly making what are supposed to be cute little witticisms and acting as if they don't realize they aren't "one of the boys." She runs a bar...and the small town's post office! When things start getting too romantic, she says she has to pee and runs away! Christ, I can't believe I'm even bothering to type this stuff. Also, she never gets naked, so there's
one more good reason to stay home.
"Moonlight Mile" takes place during the Vietnam war era, when we are expected to believe that young men were so scarce in America that hordes of girls (including, of course, the beauteous
Bertie) would be all over a pudge-faced dimwit like Jake as if he were David Cassidy with a Trans Am. Obviously, this movie takes place in some alternate universe than the one I grew up in. There is
absolutely zero chemistry between Hoffman and Sarandon, and even less between Gyllenhaal and Pompeo.
The only thing good about this sickeningly saccharine and yet simultaneously sour slopfest is its period soundtrack, including the great Rolling Stones song that is the movie's entirely
inexplicable title.
Guaranteed to make my "10 Worst of 2002" list, unless Brian Helgeland writes a lot more movies between now and New Year's.
Back Row Grade: F
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