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Ugh.
Well they’re back again, at least some of the gang from the
American Pie movies have gotten together again to make
American Wedding. And the fact that the script didn’t
meet the typically none-too-discriminating standards of actors
like Tara Reid and Chris Klein should be your
first clue as to how bad it is.
First the good, …umm…thinking… Well having not seen the first
sequel, I didn’t find this one to be difficult to follow,
only difficult to enjoy. Eugene Levy does what he can
with material, and at least when he’s on screen you can just
ignore the terrible dialogue and watch his hypnotic eyebrows.
I also got some perverse enjoyment out of watching Thomas
Ian Nicholas as Kevin Myers, (the character who learned
how to give the “tongue tornado” in the first one). He has
a fair amount of screen time in this film, but almost nothing
to do or say. He’s a complete cipher, just standing there
in the middle of the screen smiling. He’s almost more of a
prop than a character, but it’s sort of fun to watch him up
there about to collect one last big paycheck before he joins
the cast of Porky’s in oblivion.
As for the rest of the film, it’s mostly just shit and unfortunately
some shit eating too. The dialogue is perfunctory and witless,
only serving to move along the lamely contrived gross-out
gags that are the series’ signature. These scenes dominate
the movie in the same way sex scenes dominate porn: Everything
else is just a lead up to them. Despite its notably gross
veneer the film is so unimaginative that it recycles just
about every antique comedy bit with the exception of “Who’s
on First?”
The cast is energetic, but hopelessly mired in their two-dimensional
characters. Poor Alyson Hannigan! Her character was
conceived for a punch line and here her horny flutist is still
strictly one-note. Jason Biggs continues as my generation’s
pale imitation of Dustin Hoffman and although the movie
is ostensibly about the wedding, it’s really more of showcase
for Sean William Scott’s idiotic brand of spastic frat-boy
humor. This installment calls on Scott’s Stifler to do quite
a lot. He has to scheme his way into the wedding, plan the
bachelor party, ruin the wedding, eat dog shit, save the wedding,
all while trying to bang the bride’s sister. As Stifler, Scott
is sort of like a hornier, meaner Jim Carrey, but far
less imaginative. That writer Adam Herz and director
Jesse Dylan (one of Bob’s less-talented offspring)
expect such a limited character to carry a movie reflects
the laziness of an established franchise.
And barring a miracle I’m sure they’ll be rewarded for their
cynical sloth, as they once again try to prove H.L. Mencken’s
gloomy truism about nobody ever going broke underestimating
the taste of the American public.
Incidentally, I was going to give this movie half a star
for Eugene Levy and his eyebrows, but then they hit me the
Good Charlotte song.
—Edward Rholes
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out of 5
