There's no way of knowing, of course. It doesn't open until June, and maybe it's better than it looks. Or maybe--more likely--this really will be the thing that finally and irrevocably kills all joy and laughter, plunging the world into permanent despair.
Oh God, where to begin? The dick jokes, the lesbian jokes, the smirking adolescent attitude towards sexuality that makes Playboy's Party Jokes seem like the epitome of Shavian wit? The thoughtless mocking of other cultures, or the fact that Vern Troyer seems perfectly willing to allow himself to be the midget equivalent of Stepin Fetchit?
Or should we just go ahead and target the hate straight towards Mike Myers?
While acknowledging his talent, I've disliked Myers ever since his Saturday Night Live days. Even then, he was all too willing to drive a recurring character into the ground, not to find new facets of his talent but to recycle the same old things, until even his most amusing bits became painfully unfunny. He seemed to have no interest in being part of an ensemble--he'd frequently sabotage sketches revolving around other performers, calling attention to himself.
His movies have similarly been marked by self-indulgence. Not one but two Wayne's World pictures, not two but three Austin Powers outings, paper thin premises stretched beyond all reason. Leaving aside his contemptible work in The Cat In The Hat--one of the most creatively and morally bankrupt things ever exhibited in theaters--his film work has been negligible.
In interviews, Myers loudly trumpets his admiration for Peter Sellers, but he seems to emulate the monomaniacal Sellers who squandered his talent on the likes of After The Fox and Casino Royale, not the genius who worked so brilliantly with Stanley Kubrick, who gave such great performances in I'm All Right Jack, Only Two Can Play, The Blockhouse and of course, Being There. Even the characterization Sellers most firmly beat to death, Inspector Clouseau, served as a vehicle for several laugh-out-loud movies, one of which, A Shot In The Dark, could legitimately be termed a masterpiece.
Of course, the Clouseau movies were all directed by Blake Edwards, and the best of them are stylish and funny even apart from Sellers' contributions. Mike Myers has never worked--at this rate, never will work--with a filmmaker of Edwards' reputation. He clearly prefers his directors to be easily-controlled flunkies, willingly indulging his every whim. (Most despicable aspect of The Love Guru? The way Myers' mug is worked into the film's official logo--beyond self-indulgence, this borders on public masturbation.) Say what you will about the likes of Will Ferrell or Ben Stiller, at least they're open to the idea of appearing in the occasional Woody Allen or Wes Anderson picture, which both gives them credibility and sharpens their chops. Myers doesn't.
Somehow, Myers remains popular, but Tinseltown insiders claim early reaction to The Love Guru is flat at best, and in some cases, downright hostile. We can only hope it flops, and Myers is chastened, and either retires or resolves to do something worthwhile, to work with a top-notch director who might stretch his talent.
More likely, he'll just make another Austin Powers sequel, and the whithered remains of laughter and joy will scatter like dust.
