Whole Nine Yards, The (2000)

reviewed by
David N. Butterworth


THE WHOLE NINE YARDS
A film review by David N. Butterworth
Copyright 2000 David N. Butterworth
*1/2 (out of ****)

"Be gentle," urges Natasha Henstridge to Matthew Perry in "The Whole Nine Yards." "I haven't made love in five years." "Neither have I," rebuts Perry. "I'm married!"

If Jonathan Lynn's latest comedy relied simply on jokes of that caliber--and it certainly tries--then it'd be an innocuous if rather obvious little film. Instead, its failings go much deeper. First off, who hasn't had enough of the tough wiseguy intimidates the timid wise guy genre? If you want to make a pretty penny or two in Hollywood nowadays simply write a "comedy" which pairs a Robert De Niro/James Caan/Bruce Willis type with a Billy Crystal/Hugh Grant/Matthew Perry type and wait for the royalties to roll in. Who's next? Jack Nicholson and Martin Short? It certainly doesn't have to be funny.

"The Whole Nine Yards" is not a particularly funny film, but it is borderline offensive. Offensive in the way it continues a trend of poking fun at career criminals who wouldn't think twice about pushing your mother-in-law off the Brooklyn Bridge with her feet encased in concrete. That might sound like a funny sight gag, but the problem is these films have long since lost sight of the fact that taking a human life isn't all that funny to begin with. When the corpse is placed in a car, doused with gasoline, set ablaze and referred to as "barbecue," it makes you wonder when all this playing killing for laughs is going to end.

"The Whole Nine Yards" is also offensive in so much as its three central female characters are portrayed as nothing more than sex objects. Rosanna Arquette plays a slutty, chain-smoking French Canadian who's married to Matthew Perry's none-too-successful dentist. It's an unflattering role made all the more so by the unflattering outfits--and unflattering situations--into which Arquette is thrust.

Then there's Natasha Henstridge ("Species" I and II) who plays the well-to-do wife of contract killer Bruce Willis. She gets involved with Perry's character when he comes to Chicago hoping to negotiate a finder's fee with mob boss Yanni Gogolack (Kevin Pollack, transposing his Vs with his Ws) after Willis' Jimmy the Tulip Tudeski moves in next door. Henstridge and Perry's characters hitting it off is about as likely as Bruce and Demi getting back together. Perry might have the charm but he doesn't have the physical attributes of a traditional leading man, especially in close-up.

Most objectified of the bunch is Amanda Peet, who turns in a sexually-ripe performance as Perry's dental assistant with, it transpires, questionable career goals. Peet's gratuitous nude scene proves how low this movie will stoop to keep its audience from dropping off.

When "My Cousin Vinny" is the highpoint of a directorial career including such forgettable films as "Clue," "Greedy," and "Sgt. Bilko," you have to wonder if Lynn chose the wrong career path. Perry's pratfalling goofiness coupled with Willis' likable hardness could have had some potential but with no script to work with, and a director who seems to be watching from the wings, their characters run out of gas quickly.

        Please--no more mob comedies.  No more bad ones like this, at least.
--
David N. Butterworth
dnb@dca.net

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