THE FLINTSTONES
A film review by Michael John Legeros
Copyright 1994 Michael John Legeros
Directed by Brian Levant Written by Tom S. Parker, Jim Jennewein, and Steven E. deSouza Cast John Goodman, Eliabeth Perkins, Rick Moranis, Rosie O'Donnell, Kyle MacLachlan, Halle Berry, and Eliabeth Taylor MPAA Rating PG Running Time 92 minutes
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"Squealer."
- John Goodman to a wart-hog.
Forget the critics. Just go.
If the very first scene--a dusty quarry filled with giant boulders and earthmoving dinosaurs--doesn't fill you with a giddy gross of riant recognition, then you're probably in the wrong film. THE FLINTSTONES is an immensely enjoyable all-ages attraction that's the first true treat of the summer.
Remember Fred (Goodman)? He's that hearty, blue-collar bloke who spends his days in a quarry and his nights in an (bowling) alley. As the film opens, his day is nearly done and, astride his 'sauris, he's ready and waiting for the 5 o'clock bird. Watching from afar is Cliff Vandercave (MacLachlan), a young exec who's scheming with his secretary (Berry) to steal funds from the firm. All Cliff needs to get rich quick is to find the perfect patsy....
John Goodman is probably the closest we'll come to a man called Flintstone. His enthusiasm is bigger than his shirt size (no small feat there!) and, though he never gets the accent quite right, he's the obvious anchor of the film. But he's not the focus. THE FLINTSTONES is an ensemble effort with a barefoot cast that works overtime to be as obviously appealing as Goodman.
Elizabeth Perkins is the best of the rest. She nails her role of Wilma square on the red-head, right down to her priceless delivery of the word "Frad!" Less effective are the Rubbles. Rick Moranis plays Barney dumber than his cartoon counterpart, but he's still more believable than Rosie O'Donnell, passable but all wrong as Betty. Hee hee hee hee.
Remaining roles include Elizabeth Taylor, looking good and sounding great as Fred's mother-in-law, Halle Berry as the seductive secretary Sharon Stone, and Harvey Korman as the voice of a persnickety "dict-a-bird." Living cartoons Jay Leno, Richard Moll, and Jonathan Winters also make appearances. And watch for cameos from William Hanna and Joseph Barbera.
THE FLINTSTONES isn't as manic as one might expect and you can blame director Brian Levant for that. The happy helmer never tries too many of those Barry Sonnefieldish tricks that made RAISING ARIZONA and ADDAMS FAMILY VALUES such perfect cartoons. His camera stays still, but, with so many gags *already* in the film, any lack of tricky technique goes by almost unnoticed.
The writing, done ala "round table" despite three "official" credits, is great. Steven Spielrock and Company have unearthed every stone-age pun possible and then some. Sample dialogue from Fred: "There's 4,000 people in the world! Who needs the Rubbles?"
The production design is equally rich and boasts more background gags than a Zucker/Abrahams/Zucker film. A newspaper reads "All the news fit to chip." A drive-in theater shows George Lucas' "Tar Wars." And, best of all, a stone-age Warhol hangs on the wall at Slate and Co.
With so much obvious effort both before and behind the camera, THE FLINTSTONES is surprisingly clunky. The climax is rickety and many other scenes seem shortened. Were the producers afraid to take a good thing too far? Running a mere 92 minutes, THE FLINTSTONES should be more seamless than it is.
Since the entire film is a special-effect, some things look better than others. The props are all foam, of course, but the dinosaurs are real--and I mean *real*--and that's what counts in Bedrock.
The music, by David Newman, incorporates both songs and cues from the TV show. "The Twitch," performed by the renamed BC-52's, adds a Sixties-flavor that isn't needed. (Male-dominated households notwithstanding.) How about Jurssaic grunge from Seattlerock? (Sorry.)
BOTTOM LINE: If you like the Flintstones, you'll like THE FLINTSTONES.
This working-class comedy about a modern stone-age
family is fine fare for any age. You'll have a gay, old
time.
Grade: B
.
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