THE PRINCESS DIARIES A film review by David N. Butterworth Copyright 2001 David N. Butterworth
no stars (out of ****)
How could a G-rated Disney film based on Meg Cabot's novel "The Princess Diaries" be anything but cute, harmless fun? Easy. Take all the cute, harmless fun out of it. And while you're at it make it borrr-ring. That's what director Garry Marshall, screenwriter Gina Wendkos and, not to be outdone, producer Whitney Houston have done with the G-rated Disney film "The Princess Diaries."
You couldn't tell it from the audience though, a Braintree, Mass. of growing, glowing pre-pubescent girls (and the odd parental, popcorn perched about their persons), who positively cheered when the end credits rolled (ah the film had struck a lovely nerve with them but not with fuddy-duddy old me). Well, I might have cheered that the utter tripe was now well and truly over, but that would have been too obvious.
Too obvious is the least of the problems with Marshall's film (Garry made a couple of other "princess" movies--"Pretty Woman" and "Runaway Bride"--but this one's way without Julia Roberts so maybe *that's* its problem). In addition to being predictable as molasses, "The Princess Diaries" has hardly got a laugh in it (it's a comedy), could bore the pants off an Abyssinian for long, long stretches, and is so sloppily edited the principals refer to scenes we haven't even seen yet (and probably never will except, perhaps, in the DVD edition).
Marshall should take virtually all of the blame here, since he's been at this for some time and should know when a scene or two isn't working ... and hardly *any* of "The Princess Diaries" works ("works," alas, implies cleverness and there's none of that here either).
Newcomer Anne Hathaway stars as Mia Thermopolis, a bright but socially invisible San Franciscan teen who learns that her single mom (a wacky artist played by the likable Caroline Goodall) had a bit of a fling with some royal member of some miniscule European country nobody ever heard of (the filmmakers go out of their way *not* to call it Serbia, which is pretty much what all miniscule European countries are called in the movies mark my words) and now she, Mia, is next in line to rule "Genovia" (hence the headphones/tiara combo in the print ads).
Julie Andrews, with the luminous factor cranked to 11, plays Mia's grandmother (aka Queen Clarisse Renaldi), who shows up out of the royal blue and lends Mia much advice and direction in the eating, talking, and looking like a princess department (although Mia's big makeover simply transforms her from ugly duckling to ugly swan).
Does Queen Julie lose her dignity for the sake of a good laugh? Not really. Consuming a corn dog is about the worst that it gets.
Also on stereotypical hand are a brainless jock, an evil cheerleader, a dorky-looking best friend ("Welcome to the Dollhouse"'s Heather Matarazzo), a sensitive auto mechanic/musician, and Marshall mainstay Hector Elizondo as Joe the driver, imparting wit and wisdom from the front seat of Mia's chauffeur-driven limousine at every intersection.
A non-animated G-rated movie is a rarity these days but the rating here reflects the fact that all the guts, all the good stuff, has been exorcised from the finished product. Lame, labored, and lamentable, "The Princess Diaries" is recommended for eight-and-a-half year olds of the feminine persuasion *only*; all others would do well to avoid it (like potholes, the plague, and "The Perfect Storm").
-- David N. Butterworth dnb@dca.net
Got beef? Visit "La Movie Boeuf" online at http://members.dca.net/dnb
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