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Reviews
EuroTrip (2004)
Simpering teen euro-stalkers with more cash than currency
Prime candidate for single, greatest waste of celluloid. Idiotic premise, gratuitous accumulation of sophomoric ethnological stereotypes, cheap-shots (Hitler-mustached German child goose-stepping) and cheese-laden sex/drug innuendo. If this were intended to emulate the teen-beach flicks of the 60s, it fails even as a parody (which I am sure was never the intent). It lacks (not only) the milieu- more significantly, the innocence. Four teens bereft of intelligence sufficient to relocate themselves four blocks beyond their gated, suburban enclave (somehow) manage a trek through Europe without being thrashed on general principle. If Europeans think Americans are stupid, this piece of drivel provides ample supporting evidence.
Into the Night (1985)
Film wavers between comedy, drama, managing neither
Jeff Goldblum mistook "Into the Night" for a silent; his lack of dialog, quirky gestures and narcoleptic detachment render him absent- not the sole MIA. There's an awkward lack of chemistry between Goldblum and love-interest, Michelle Pfeiffer. This disjointed Landis flop survives on cable for its millisecond glimpse of Pfeiffer, naked. If Landis had devoted time directing rather than decorating this production with idiosyncratic baubles ("Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein") the film might have benefited. Unfortunately, this dog was DOA: a fine score that NEVER fits the film, poor continuity, horrible timing, actors bored by a lame script, a story line that was apparently discovered in the editing room. If David Bowie's cameo was intended as cherry, it topped something otherwise inedible.
Neal Cassady (2007)
The sound of one hand clapping...
"Neal Cassady" is a film for those so immersed in Beat Generation personalities, one more film merely bears out consumption of all available subject matter. It reveals nothing and does so in a manner that leaves the viewer feeling burned. One could alternately imagine 80 minutes of raw snippets from Ken Kesey's film record of the Furthur bus trip. ...A worthwhile metaphor incorporated in Buschel's film; lost in the context of vignettes haphazardly suspended like ornaments on a dessicated Christmas tree.
The film handily returns latent hipsters transfixed on 60s moonbeams to Earth. An end to which the director/writer succeeds with supererogation reminiscent of health class.
Self-destructive behavior paralleled Beat literature. Exploring the relationship between art and disaffected artist is a purpose this film glaringly avoids.
As much as the film parodies post-Beat Kerouac idolaters, it cannot redeem itself from the charge of exploiting their pitfall.