Now With More Daily - Monotony Blog

Shakespeare spoof '2' is but the slave to tedium

Bearing all of the slapstick gags, socially-maladjusted tics, and bizarre characterizations of “Napoleon Dynamite,” the outing in “Hamlet 2” may run a similar course, but struggles to conjure even half the former flix’ charm. The debate over the efficacy of theatre so ardently won in the Shakespearean progenitor of “2” is clearly lost on the producers here, who obviously don’t even trust the viewers to tell Hamlet from Ghost. Giving more light than heat, this pestilent congregation of vapors needed to play past expectations of puerile summer comedy and be a little truer to its own self.

Set in Tucson, which is depicted as a town frozen in a cultural glacier, the plot of this film is really superfluous, being – until the third act – merely a series of loosely connected mishaps and misfortunes for the main character. I can thusly gloss over that and treat the only aspect of this film that does delight me, which is the endearing performance by Manc thesp Steve Coogan. Coogan is thankfully willing to throw himself into the character – a bedeviled high school theatre teacher trying to stage a final perf – with complete commitment. This is what allows me to make a guarded recommendation for the film. If you like sincerity in the face of complete condemnation, you’ll enjoy the Coogan character enough to ignore the rest of the missed cues and dropped curtains going on in the background of the film.

But it’s the missed cues in “Hamlet” that are what ultimately bring the film, and not the house, down. Two drug related sequences are patently unfunny. The recurring roller skating motif is funny for the first 15% of the screen time. The bare male rear end is only painful. The marital/fertility subplot is just terrible. You get the picture. And sadly, the “triumphant” redemption in the third act feels a little calculated and insincere. Actually, it feels very calculated. It is neither willing to go far enough, nor go too far.

Except for conceited and countercultural cynics, we all can watch and enjoy “Napoleon Dynamite.” Enjoying the schizoid misfortunes of a fuzz-haired mouth breather trapped in a town trapped in ’89 may seem a bid sadistic, if you ignore the real reason this film is appealing: there is a little bit of Napoleon within each of us, even if we are far too cool to admit it. Because no matter how sheltered your upbringing, you’ve felt like – and been – just as much of a dork, at some time or another. And that’s why you like Napoleon. But ultimately, this is not a film about being a failure. When Napoleon dances across the stage, triumphant, the entire film stands up as an affirmation of personhood and individuality. The explosive redemption in “Dynamite” is about just being who you are. “Hamlet 2” wants to do exactly the same thing; it just lacks any force. Think of it as “Napoleon Black Powder.”