Crocodile Dundee in L.A.
Apparently, Linda Koslowski needed work, so her husband, Paul Hogan, decided to make another one of these intolerable Crocodile Dundee movies. After all, it's about time a new generation was introduced to the wonder from down under. Who could possibly want their child to grow up without vital intimate knowledge of Paul Hogan and his creepy, unwashed alter ego?
Since Crocodile Dundee visited New York in an earlier movie and has presumably learned at least something more about America in the ten years since, it's just slightly far-fetched that he would travel to Los Angeles and once again be confused by things like hot tubs, remote controls and toilet paper. One can only assume that Dundee's quaint, down-home charm is a cover for some kind of brain disorder. Apparently, "Crocodile Dundee 4" is already done -- they just drop old Mick in a Sharper Image store and watch the hijinks as he worships the revolving tie rack as his new god.
While being confused by television, Hollywood and soap, Dundee nevertheless manages to solve a murder mystery involving a Hollywood studio and art theft. Naturally, Dundee and friends tool around L.A. in a Subaru Outback, just in case you were curious whether this was the film where Hogan finally discovers a capacity for shame.
Dundee has a Dr. Doolittle quality about him, since he seems to have the ability to talk to the animals. This is marked in the film by Dundee holding up one hand and pointing two fingers into the air, like Elvis with a cramp. Unlike Dr. Doolittle, the animals do not say anything back to Dundee that we are able to hear, though one can only assume it must be something like, "Leave us the hell alone, you Subaru-shilling hack."
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