Some time ago, I expressed my fears that the release of Mike Myers' astonishingly awful-sounding The Love Guru would bring about the end of all joy and goodness, and people would never laugh again.
Based on the reviews, such a nightmare was indeed possible: "Downright antifunny," claims The New York Times' A.O. Scott, "almost hypnotic in its awfulness," says Nathan Rabin at The AV Club, while Slate's Dana Stevens pronounces it "the most joy-draining 88 minutes I've ever spent outside a hospital waiting room." Clearly, this movie is every bit as lethal as predicted.
Except--no one's going to see it. The American movie-going public, the same collective who made inexplicable hits out of Myers' Austin Powers and Shrek franchises, has suddenly shown an unexpected attack of good taste and common sense, and in their avoidance of this loser's noxious stench, has decided to preserve laughter and happiness for at least a little while longer.
