The Green Hornet
"The Green Hornet" continues the trend of superhero movies so disappointingly dull that they could have replaced literally half the film with random footage from C-SPAN and no one in the audience would have noticed the difference. Yes, this film manages to somehow fuck up the solid gold concept of a rich dude vigilante with a mysterious Asian sidekick, probably because the sidekick was also a dude and because there was zero interracial intercourse caught on camera – probably a blessing, given that Cameron Diaz was removed from her hyperbaric chamber in order to play the female lead.
Diaz is old, but in case you weren't familiar with exactly how ancient she actually is (40) the movie contains an awkward scene where everyone makes fun of her age (36, according to her lying Joker-esque mouth). Diaz is in fact old enough to have starred in a movie where Jim Carrey was considered cutting edge, a fact that must have blown away seldom-funny Seth Rogan (the titular Green Hornet) and Jay Chou, a Taiwanese singer who dabbles in acting to the point where you honestly, actually believe his character Kato might be Asian.
Are there any bright spots to "The Green Hornet"? In a word, no. Sadly, the entire fucking film is in 3D, the most useless gimmick to have ever been resurrected from the drive-in graveyard and forced upon the modern masses. Remember how shitty Jaws 3D looks now when we look back with the wisdom of the ages? It's going to be the same for movies like "The Green Hornet," where we are forced to wear blurry plastic glasses of dubious hygienic history for the privilege of seeing Seth Rogen's moles and Cameron Diaz's leathery skin in three-fucking-dimensions.
And what's with every single 3D movie needing to include some lame scene where something explodes into the audience so that we all have to duck to avoid being hit with poorly animated shards of CGI pathetinicity? All throughout "The Green Hornet," I kept hoping and praying that Rogen's head bursting in three dimensions would redeem the entire movie and allow me to conceal the fact that even though I hate him so much as an actor, his failure to be funny and his inability to restrict himself to even a reasonable junk food intake made us closer than I had ever been to any other man. Sadly, it was not to be.
Incidentally, this movie also starred Edward James Olmos, phoning in his performance as the embittered editor of Rogen's family newspaper while he waits for yet another Battlestar Galactica royalty check to clear. He better hope that Mickey Rourke dies within the next five years, or he's going to start losing out on all of the "old dude with acne scars" roles that have been floated his way since he left television. What I wouldn't pay to see Olmos, Rourke and Berenger in a battle royal to the death to determine who will rule the world of pockmarked sexual predator portraits for the remainder of all time. How about it, FOX?
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