Disaster Movie

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In the Adam Sandler vehicle Little Nicky, Hitler spends eternity in Hell in a frilly smock getting pineapples shoved up his butt. Compared to anyone watching Disaster Movie, he got off light. Rushed into production with no better drape for its threadbare gags than Cloverfield — unless you count proud upholders of the Irwin Allen tradition such as Juno, Enchanted, and High School Musical — this carpet-fouling mongrel of a movie no more deserves release than do anthrax spores. Visually an eyesore, comically a much-lower-seated pain, it's the same as writer-directors Jason Friedberg and Aaron Seltzer's other (fill in the blank) movie parodies, only somehow uglier and lazier. Ugliness and laziness can sometimes work to comedy's advantage, but not here — not when the level of inspiration is someone answering a Get Smart shoe phone, only to smear his face with dog crap. Yes, there are nods to Hannah Montana and "I'm Fucking Matt Damon"; yes, Crista Flanagan does a spot-on Ellen Page — and yes, you can feel the dead air in the theater as joke after so-called joke falls splat on the pavement. The bastards couldn't even find the energy to put an exclamation point after the title. Best text message sent from my screening (it wasn't me, but I certainly sympathized): "I want to die."

 
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