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Little Nicky ***
More so than my failed relationships, chronic unemployment, and rather
unpleasant addiction to Vicodin combined, Adam Sandler movies make me want
to kill myself. And none of that pansy, fistful of sleeping pills, scratch
up your wrists with a kitchen knife, cry-for-attention kind of kill myself.
I mean serious, hardcore, drinking gasoline while listening to Type O
Negative kind of kill myself. Yeah, I know, I too was temporarily charmed by
the romance and sweetness of Drew Barrymore's breasts in The Wedding Singer,
but that warm, fuzzy, vaguely pedophilic feeling didn't last. Every time
young Drew was off-screen, I was once again reminded that I was watching a
movie starring Pauly Shore's slightly less articulate half-brother (same
mother, different demon-father). As funny as sentences that start out as
baby-talk and end as profane screaming are, they're much more amusing when
they come out of an infant's mouth, rather than an ostensibly grown man with
a penchant for falsetto. Nevertheless, I was contractually obliged to see
Little Nicky, due to its preoccupation with Satan and the presence of a
Danzig patch on a character's jean jacket. For those unfamiliar with the
plot, Sandler plays Little Nicky, the son of Satan. For reasons of utter
hilarity, Nicky not only has bad hair, but he talks goofy, too. Goofy! Now
that's comedy. So anyway, he has to go to Earth for some stupid reason,
where he not only meets a really creepy talking dog, but falls in love!
Imagine that. The love interest in this case is Patricia Arquette, who I
hope will use the money she made whoring herself out to this film to finally
fix the giant dent in her teeth. Once on Earth, Sandler walks around for
twenty minutes being an ass, and the movie then thankfully ends fairly
quickly, sparing us from further embarrassment. But you know what? As much
as I despise Sandler's shtick, I hated Little Nicky less than I usually hate
things. Maybe it was the presence of Satan, maybe it was Sandler's
burgeoning maturity, or maybe it was the plastic fumes from the Tori Amos CD
I set on fire after it was left in my stereo on repeat, but I actually
stopped fantasizing about my own death long enough to laugh once or twice.
But let's not dwell on the positive, shall we? That would be stupid.
Instead, let's take a moment to reflect upon why this movie is going
straight to hell. No, it has nothing to do with the satanic content, or the
fact that the hero is the son of the devil. We have a kind and forgiving
God, remember, and he is prone to forgive the odd trespass into the dark
side. No, the real flaw of the movie is the same flaw that plagues
sophomoric frat-boy comedies time and time again, namely midgetry. For some
bizarre reason, people who enjoy drinking beer by the can find midgets
funny. As regular readers will no doubt recall, it's been well established
in these pages that midget-kind collectively represents the Anti-Christ, and
Little Nicky, in an example of the horrid 'gross-out' style humour
popularized by There's Something About Semen, features a scene with two
midgets kissing. This should never be. Not only is it perverse and
unwholesome on its own, but it suggests an even more distressing image:
midget sex. I know, I know, I didn't believe it could happen either, but
apparently, not only are they allowed to procreate, sometimes such an
atrocity is filmed and sold to the general public in the back rooms of video
stores. This is what happens when you elect a liberal government, people.
Anyway, while Little Nicky doesn't actually contain midget sex, and there
are some good points, such as a cameo by Ozzy Osbourn and a scene in which
Fonzy from Happy Days gets eaten by bees, all in all the film can't make up
for its one tragic misstep. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got my own tragic
misstep to make, about 15 stories off a balcony to a place where Adam
Sandler can no longer torment me.