The Whole Ten Yards
Aside from maybe Ebola or trying to correct the grammar in George W. Bush's first draft speechwriting efforts, I can think of nothing worse than watching Bruce Willis overact, unless that includes watching Matthew Perry overact on the same screen. That's the main purpose of "The Whole Ten Yards": It has more hams than Easter dinner at the homeless shelter.
Ham number one is Willis, who appears to be conducting a one-man tribute to "Hudson Hawk." As hitman Jimmy "The Tulip" Tudeski, Willis's job is to pretend to be pretending that he's: 1) having problems with his wife, Jill (Amanda Peet), 2) upset with dentist "Oz" Oseransky (Matthew Perry) and 3) secretly working with ex-wife (now Oz's wife) Cynthia (Natasha Henstridge) so that he can pull off some insanely convoluted ruse involving Lazlo Gogolak (Kevin Pollak). And though it's off topic, can anyone tell me why Willis is starting to look like one of the Nazis from "Raiders of the Lost Ark" who were melted by the ghouls from the Ark of the Covenant? Is that the smoking-and-fiber diet?
Ham number two is Perry, who must wake up every day thanking whatever genie granted him his wish to be a successful actor. He has so much range that every character he plays in every movie he ever acts in should just be called "Chandler."
The final ham is Kevin Pollak, who plays his character as a disturbing cross between Charles Nelson Reilly and Marlon Brando from "The Godfather." Gogolak is one of those mobsters of unknown origin who pronounces "Jimmy" "Yimmy" and confuses everyone around him whenever he opens his mouth.
Watching this film is like being drugged and dropped into the middle of a homeowners' association meeting in Norway. Who are these people? What are they talking about? Who's married to whom and why? Why are they behaving this way? Seriously, does anybody remember anything from "The Whole Nine Yards"? Anything? I can't remember where I parked my car. How in the world am I going to remember anything from some 4-year-old Matthew Perry film? It's like asking me to recall a traumatic past life.
Let's face it: Calling the sequel to "The Whole Nine Yards" "The Whole Ten Yards" is asking for trouble. It's cute in the same way that a baby with a full diaper is cute. I would have called the sequel "The Whole Twenty-Eight Feet." That was the distance from my theater seat to the exit, which -- after this film finally ended -- seemed longer like T.E. Lawrence's walk out of the desert.
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