Death To Smoochy (2002)
Grade: C+
Cast: Edward Norton, Robin Williams, Catherine Keener, Danny DeVito, Harvey Fierstein, Jon Stewart
Director: Danny DeVito
Rated R for strong language, drug references, some sexual content, and violence

When a movie is as reviled as “Death To Smoochy”, and when I like it, I sometimes doubt my credibility. EVERYONE hated this movie, so why didn’t I?

Well, there are plenty of possibilities as to why this movie was so terribly hated by critics and audiences alike, and the only reason I know this is because I didn’t love “Death To Smoochy”—I can realize that there are a lot of things wrong with it. The first possibility is because it is directed by Danny DeVito. I believe this is only the second DeVito-directed film I’ve seen (after “Matilda”), and I don’t really care for his style. He’s abrasive and over-the-top, and this sometimes leads to miscalculations; his two Alex-viewed films, at best, are hit and miss, and it’s because he goes out on a limb daringly, not afraid to be too exaggerated for the audience’s taste. He’s about as subdued as he is tall. This can be looked at as ballsy, and maybe DeVito is bold at times, but that doesn’t mean he’s a favorite artist of mine.

Then you could also nitpick about how nasty the film is. Of course the viewer needs to come in expecting a little mean spirit; “Death To Smoochy” is a satire, and without any bite it would be worthless. But I think “Death To Smoochy”’s teeth appear a lot sharper than they really are. Caricatures and exaggerations are not alien to the film, and they somewhat dull the effect we would have if this were a brilliant satire on the level of Alexander Payne’s “Election”.

The plot is this: “Rainbow Randolph” (Robin Williams) is a popular kiddie show host in the vein of Barney who has just been fired for taking bribes from parents. Now two executives, Stokes (Jon Stewart, given nothing to do here but stand around with a bad haircut) and Nora Wells (Catherine Keener, playing the same character she played in “Being John Malkovich”, until the audience is thrown a predictable, dumb, and sadly conventional character arc) are racing to find a replacement. They finally resort to Sheldon Mopes (Edward Norton), whose alter ego, much more in the vein of Barney, is a purple rhino who sings songs such as “We’ll Get You Off That Smack” and “My Stepdad’s Not Bad, He’s Just Adjusting”. Since DeVito has to have a part in the film, he is given the useless role of Mopes’s corrupt agent, Burke. Mopes himself is no more corrupt than the purple rhino; he’s a saintly ass-kisser who probably hasn’t sinned in his life (sample Mopes statement: “When my friends played cowboys and Indians, I was always the Chinese railroad worker”) and would never exact revenge upon the countless individuals who continuously step all over him (and when he finally does, it’s only because Burke’s “fucked with the wrong rhino”). Stokes is enormously uninteresting, although that’s not Stewart’s fault; Nora is funny like Maxine in “Malkovich” is interesting, and the script does some funny things with her (her kiddie-show host sexual fetish was amusing), but the way her character turns nice (and not for satirical purpose, either) just rubbed me the wrong way.

Anyway, Randolph has become a psychotic suicidal freak, and his main objective becomes making sure that Smoochy dies. And if he can’t kill Smoochy, he’ll at the very least make sure he has a similar fall from the spotlight—in one unlikely but somewhat humorous scene, Randolph leads Mopes to a rally where the members of the audience are neo-Nazis, but Mopes thinks they’re children.

All of this is very hard to explain—it is almost never hilarious (the funniest part is the end credits sequence, which hilariously mimics conventional happy endings), but it is at least elevated to the point where the audience is interested and regularly amused (and by the audience, I mean me). I didn’t love a lot in the movie, but most of it was hard to dislike, partly because of the charm of the actors (yeah, if anything in this film possesses charm, it’s the cast). Keener is hilarious when she’s a bitch and it’s not her fault when she’s not a bitch; Norton, always more interesting in dark roles, is pretty good; DeVito’s just kind of there, but he has his moments too; Williams gives the best performance of the bunch, screaming profane death wishes towards Smoochy and graphically twisting his face to make Randolph’s inner turmoil funny.

Not all of “Death To Smoochy” works, sadly. DeVito’s direction still annoys me when I think about it, because he felt the need to shove everything in our face. The character of a slow adult Smoochy fan (Michael Rispoli) whose presence on the show is ensured because he’s supported by the Irish mob seemed pointless and extraneous to the story; very little of the material involving Rispoli was funny, although I suppose it was important for him to set up a certain misunderstanding that I won’t spoil. If “Smoochy” had gotten a script re-write in which several characters were trimmed (Rispoli’s, as well as Burke and Stokes) and the laughs and darkness were increased, as well as a different director, this would be a much better film. If it were to be a great film, though, it would need all this plus an earlier release date. Come on now, who really cares about Barney anymore, in the year 2002? In the early 90s I’m sure it was hip for parents to make violent Barney jokes at parties or in casual conversation, but Barney’s danced his way off the public radar, at least for a while. Add up all those factors, and I guess “Smoochy” in its present state is as good as it could be without those changes. Too bad what I mean by ‘good’ is so uneven.


-Alex, October 2002