by Clint Fletcher
Bernie serves up a sour dish of Mac and cheese.
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Alright, I’m just going to be honest and put it out there: baseball sucks. Yes, I know that many of you will disagree and that’s perfectly fine, but I just can’t help myself. I find the game as entertaining as watching Martha Stewart cook rice on a cloudy day. And hey, this is coming from a guy who was born and raised by a father who is a local baseball legend. However, I do like baseball movies. Classics such as Major League, The Sandlot and even Rookie of the Year are all something that Mr. 3000 is not: good.
Bernie Mac (does anyone else get the feeling that this guy can’t even read?) stars as Stan, a former MLB hot mouth that (you guessed it) always cared about himself more than his teammates. After retiring and basing (no pun intended) his entire life over his supposed 3000 base hits he obtained, some top dogs of the MLB discover that there was a records error, and he never truly reached 3000 hits. I must admit, not a bad idea for a baseball movie. So he returns to the game to reclaim the three hits that he lost, and (you guessed it again!) learns the true value of team spirit and to wise up for his lady interest (a wasted Angela Bassett).
Look, I knew going into this flick that it was going to follow the traditional cliché format of all sports movies, particularly baseball clichés. But I figured it maybe would serve up enough laughs to make up for lack of originality. Boy was I wrong. Now, I’ve created a new theory for myself and I truly believe in it. This is something that I like to call The Marvin Gaye Theory. If you ever, in the near future, see or rent a comedy that features that fucking annoying Marvin Gaye song “Let’s Get It On,” run like hell! Avoid the movie at all costs! With the exception of Austin Powers (where it originally was used), it seems that every lame-ass cliché comedy within the past 5 years has had that damn song in it. As a matter of fact, to support this theory, I’d like to ask all of you reading this to email Film Monthly if you can think of a shitty movie you’ve heard that song in. If you do this, then you’ll receive a prize: a dollar. Plus $5 shipping and handling on your part. Another rather odd thing this film as going for it is the spitting. What, you may ask? SPITTING. Everybody spits when they talk, especially Mac. Maybe its bad lighting on scenes when someone has to shout, but I saw so much saliva within this 2 hour period that I had to run home and take a shower. Say it, don’t spray it. That’s my motto. Ok, now onto the reasons why this movie blows…
There are many attributes to the butchering of this film, but to sum them all up into one generalization: its not funny. I laughed once during this film. ONCE. Numero uno! I even distinctly remember the joke too. It was the gag when Mac was teaching the Asian dude how to cuss properly (since obviously, he doesn’t speak English well). Other than that one shiny moment, Mr. 3000 doesn’t even make a slight attempt at comedy. The movie’s not funny or unfunny its just… there. I’d rather have a movie be unfunny so it would give me more to bitch about, but this flaming piece of shit is right down there with The Whole Ten Yards as far as emptiness. Why, God? WHY?! Now don’t get me wrong, I like Bernie Mac. I love his style of comedy that he so triumphantly presented in Ocean’s 11, Charlie’s Angels 2 and even Head of State (despite the last two movies sucking harder than Paris Hilton on a second date). But Mac’s biggest problem is the choosing of his scripts. He’s another one of those performers that follows the Ashton Kutcher rule of acting: make any script that is offered to you.
There’s not much else I can say about Mr. 3000 because the filmmakers decided to offer me nothing as far as entertainment value. Sticking to my theory that every film has one redeeming quality, I did enjoy the last five minutes of the movie. The generous act that Mac pulls off in the end is quite predictable, but nevertheless touching. It also leads to the best part of all: the end credits so I could leave. But, overall, if I had to describe my own personal hell, it would be to watch Mr. 3000 three-thousand times over.
Clint Fletcher is a filmmaker in Chicago who will stay away from South America this season.
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