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So act fast and slip into a theatre showing this movie if you're either a masochist, a census taker in pursuit of masochists, or an assassin looking to ditch the Secret Service. Screwed is also recommended for depressives looking to get in out of the nice Spring weather.
Come to think of it, this might even be the worst picture of the decade. But as it's going to be a long century, we'll leave it at that; for now. However, look to this column sometime in the 2050s for a reassessment. In the meantime, it behoves those humanitarian cineastes among us to keep friends and family from succumbing to ads for this mess of a movie, and to then continue the vigil when the VCR version surreptitiously slithers into the video store. At that point bumper stickers may be necessary: "Friends Don't Let Friends Get 'Screwed.'" Only so that we may prepare for the crusade, a review is in order.
A very poor man's (we're talking destitute here) Dumb and Dumber, Screwed is much less than the sum of its parts. It proves that everything can indeed go wrong if you gather enough talent and do absolutely nothing right with it. For starters, there's the heretofore successful writing team of Scott Alexander and Larry Karaszewski (Ed Wood, Man On The Moon) trying to make like the collaborating Farrelly Brothers (There's Something About Mary). While the would-be auteurs are listed as both writer and director, a viewing of Screwed would suggest that no one actually directed this anarchical hodgepodge. And what's worse, it appears that while Alexander and Karaszewski were busy not directing this film, they also forgot to write a funny movie. To call what tries to pass for a screenplay a re-hash of tired old ideas would be truly charitable.
Norm Macdonald stars (though tarnishes is the more accurate verb) as Willard Filmore, second generation chauffeur in the dastardly employ of pie baking baroness Mrs. Krock (Elaine Stritch). He anguishes when the old hag refuses to buy him a new uniform after 17 years on the job. When he complains, the witch adds insult to injury by firing him, on Christmas Eve no less. Upon relating his tale of woe to best friend Rusty, proprietor of a fried chicken joint, David Chappelle as the incredulous pal issues the film's only funny line: "Huh? People don't fire their slaves."
They plot revenge. A dognapping scheme. They'll ask for a million dollars.
Naturally, the plan goes awry. And when the purloined Pomeranian finds his way back to Mrs. Krock before she even knows he's gone, the penurious old gal figures the ransom note she received is referring to Willard. So of course she refuses to pay. Chip, her corporate guru and right-hand man, played by everyone's favourite T.V. dry cleaner, Sherman Hemsley, supports her. Eventually public opinion and sinking profits alter her sang-froid stand.
Enters Daniel Benzali, struggling against type as the bumbling detective assigned to the case. You know him as the sleazy but brilliant, bald-headed attorney who defended the connected guys on NYPD Blue. An actor of his stature appearing in such slop demands an investigation of its own. And equally confounding is the presence of Danny DeVito as the coroner who Willard and Rusty frantically enlist when their continuously skewed plans require a corpse. A hideous cross between the sorcerer's apprentice and Renfield, Dracula's unsavoury goon, blood-drenched Grover is literally up to his elbows in cadavers. Neither camp nor clever, Mr. DeVito's unfunny attempt at ghoulishness is in pathetically bad taste.
The lead performances fair no better. Expanding on his bit part as a slacker/hanger-on in Billy Madison, Mr. Macdonald makes a none too interesting dolt. His weak-kneed impression of an imbecile sets movie morons back several decades. And the same goes for Mr. Chappelle as his co-conspirator and partner in idiocy. You wonder: Is this a new kind of comedy? One that isn't funny? You rub your eyes in disbelief and look around the theatre to make sure everyone else is witnessing the same thing. Is anybody laughing, or at least smiling?
It's so bad that you're distracted to thought. And just maybe it's our built-in tolerance, that which makes us human. Because while watching this sort of disaster, there is the gnawing feeling that there just has to be a behind-the-scenes explanation. We want to graciously give Screwed the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps someone owed someone a favour. Or maybe the boss' son finally got his chance to produce. But two things are for sure: (1) Whatever the excuse, it has to be a lot more entertaining than this; and (2), You'd have to be nailed to the seat to sit through Screwed again.
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