Somehow encouraged by the distinctly lukewarm response to THE WHOLE NINE YARDS, Bruce Willis and company have decided to gift us with a sequel, THE WHOLE TEN YARDS. It is a dreadful morass, which may be the result of either hubris, or the need to produce a sure-fire money loser in order to create a tax shelter of some sort. Alas, unlike a similar idea that was the basis of THE PRODUCERS, that incomparable comedy by Mel Brooks before he suffered his own bout of hubris, THE WHOLE TEN YARDS succeeds only in making one of Willis previous bombs, HUDSON HAWK look, well, not good, nothing in this part of the time/space continuum can do that, but downright competent.
It picks up two years after the last film ended with many corpses and lots of smooching. Willis character, Jimmy The Tulip Tudeski has fled the witness protection program and with his new wife, perky ex-dental assistant Jill (Amanda Peet), gone south of the border down Mexico way. There, he obsessively putters around the house, vacuuming, dusting, and turning out gourmet meals all while sporting an apron and bunny slippers. From the smug, self-satisfied air with which Mr. Willis carries himself, we are, I think, supposed to find this extremely funny. If only we could see the world through his squinty eyes. Jill is still trying to make her bones, as the slang goes, as a hitwoman, but so far has done little more than wreak the havoc of death by misadventure. As for Jimmys old pal and Jills ex-boss Oz (Matthew Perry), hes moved his dental practice to Brentwood, married Jimmys ex-wife, Cynthia (Natasha Henstridge), and lives a life of barely contained panic, worrying about whether or not the gangsters from part one will show up and take him out. Naturally, there are gangsters, led by a Hungarian octogenarian (Kevin Pollack), and naturally Jimmy and Oz will be thrown together for another adventure, or, as it turns out in this case, an exercise in futility.
In what can only be described as a desperate attempt to wring whatever humor there might be out of a flat and lifeless script, everyone involved plays their parts as broadly as possible. The result is an unwatchable maelstrom of flailing arms and strenuously rotated eyeballs. Everyone, that is, except Willis, who once again displays that amazing ability to go through an entire movie without moving more than three muscles in his face. Perry is like nothing so much as a skittish ferret, barking out lines with a scattershot abandon, perhaps in hopes that one, just one, will hit its comedic mark. As for any of this extracting a snippet of humor, lets just say that the old aphorism about not being able to get blood from a turnip applies.
When things begin to go downhill, and that would be almost immediately in an orgy of smacks upside the head and Kevin Pollocks completely stale take on an undecipherable accent, the flatulent grandmother is trotted out. But wait, just when you think things cant get worse, theres the theological discussion of sperm topped off with an extended sequence featuring Mr. Willis tushie because, well, Im not exactly sure why there was so much of it. At this point, audience members may be forgiven for questioning why they have been abandoned by their higher power. Inexplicably, the director feels compelled to linger lovingly over every excruciating cinematic belly flop, prolonging this agony to almost two hours.
As annoying as all this is, there is something that looms yet more perniciously over the proceedings. The first movie was not a blockbuster, and yet public indifference engendered a sequel two years later. If the audience stays away in droves from the sequel, will THE WHOLE TEN YARDS spawn THE WHOLE ELEVEN YARDS in only a year? Questions such as that are what turn the reviewing press into such a hardened, jaded, and cynical bunch.
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