Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me
(Note: I promise to refrain from saying "Yeah, baby, yeah", "Shagadelic" or any other Austin-ism during the course of this review. You're welcome.)
Last weekend, The Spy Who Shagged Me actually out-grossed The Phantom Menace. First of all, this vindicates myself and the other carping critics who tagged Lucas as a Judas who sold out our collective mythology, Disney-izing Star Wars and making it stupid instead of simple. Secondly, it shows that we are desperate for comedy. Name me one funny movie that has come out in the last two months. Not ironic funny like The Mummy or satirical like Election, but just a flick good for some solid belly laughs. Go on, think about it, I'll wait.
Nope, I can't come up with one either. And sad to say, neither did Mike Myers. Sure, The Spy Who Shagged Me has its moments, most revolving around the strangely effeminate Dr. Evil and his son, a clever editing sequence in which euphemisms for "penis" are strung together, and Rob Lowe's hilarious imitation of Robert Wagner which no one in the theatre seemed to find amusing but me.
But Austin himself seems strangely flat this time around, and I'm saying this as a fan of the first film. Of course, the whole premise of the film is that Austin's mojo is stolen from him, robbing him of his ability to swing, his libido, his Austin-ness…but still. The whole schtick was funny and fresh the first time around, but now it seems stale and worn, Myers going through the motions of what we want Austin to be. Sadly, many of the jokes are exactly the same, as in the visual gag where Austin walks around naked and items in the foreground take the place of his Business.
I hoped the cheap scatological humor of the first film might be ditched in favor of more clever anachronisms. Nope. Austin and Dr. Evil do travel back to 1969 to battle over the fate of Austin's stolen mojo, with a few puzzled stares when Dr. Evil tells the President to "talk to the hand", but if anything, the fart jokes and such are upped. Look, people. This stuff is not funny. Everyone else in the theatre seemed to get a kick out of Austin gingerly sipping a stool sample or appearing to have ropes and umbrellas come out of his rectum, but I'm right on this. If these gags make you laugh, you're either 13 or stupid.
There are moments, of course. The trailer, made up of many of these moments, was hilarious. Elvis Costello and Burt Bacharach make a bizarrely welcome cameo, adding a jolt of heart to the film, although the Great One (Elvis, that is) looks a bit uncomfortable. Really, the film only comes alive when Dr. Evil is onscreen, adding a breath of fresh air after Heather (Felicity Shagwell) Graham's remarkably flat performance. His "Just the Two Of Us" crooning and post-coital stammering with Frau Farbissina make the film palatable.
Look, no one wants Acting (a la Jon Lovitz: "Acting!") from Austin Powers. But we want something silly, fun and retro-goofy. And while batting .200 might be OK for the minor leagues, it's pretty poor for comedy. Fans of Austin Powers will be let down, and the uninitiated had best remain that way.
On a side note, as a hirsute man, I find it refreshing to see Austin's virile chest rug on the big screen, making the ladies swoon and the men bite their fists in jealousy. We furry mammals have precious few sexpot representatives in cinema. Robin Williams? Too manic. Alec Baldwin? Too self-absorbed. Andy Garcia? Too wimpy. No, Austin Powers and his supremely unselfconscious, confident flaunting of his pectoral bath mat is just the poster boy we need to bring True Manhood back to Hollywood. Let's hope the next installment finds him back in prime form.
- Jared O'Connor
MOVIES
All Content © 1997, 1998, 1999 Jared O'Connor and Michael Baker