Scooby-Doo (2002)
Grade: D+
Cast:: Matthew Lillard, Sarah Michelle Gellar, Linda Cardellini, Freddie Prinze Jr., Rowan Atkinson, and a computer animated dog
Director: Raja Gosnell
Rated PG for extemely mild language, farting contests, and Freddie Prinze Jr.


"Scooby-Doo" is an experience that isn’t likely to revisit me any time later on in life (except in really gruesome nightmares), so I figure I ought to mark the occasion by pointing out the aspects of it that kept me from slitting my throat during its nearly unendurable 87 minutes. In other words, the good stuff:

The Gang. The cast was pretty well-chosen, I must say. Matthew Lillard (who was previously great in "Scream," and that’s probably about it) does a pitch-perfect imitation of Casey Kasem as he gives us his version of Shaggy, and while a mere imitation isn’t always interesting, it works for the kind of movie this thing is. Daphne is not a great character, but Sarah Michelle Gellar does about as good a job as there could be, and she’s also hot, so that livens things up a bit. Linda Cardellini does an excellent job as Velma, and Freddie Prinze Jr. deserves none of my words.

The Length. The film is a short 87 minutes including the ending credits, but since I left before those were over, it was closer to 82 (and trust me, I know this for a fact; throughout the film I was an extremely avid follower of the state of the film’s running time). It should have been much, much shorter—you know there’s a problem when you’re checking your watch after five minutes—but I mention the length because I seriously had bladder issues. Yes, my movie theater comes equipped with bathrooms, but I didn’t want to leave in fear that I would miss a good joke. See, the good jokes are few and far between in "Scooby-Doo," and if I witnessed a bright spot, it was considered another inch or so added to the string my sanity was hanging by. Although, dammit, I should have made a run for it during the fart contest.

The Occasional Adult Humor. Much has been made of the bigger questions regarding “Scooby-Doo, Where Are You?” over the years—i.e., is Velma a lesbian? Why do Fred and Daphne always go off together? Is Shaggy a pothead? Why won’t Scrappy go away? There are yawn-and-you-miss-it references to each one of these questions (Scrappy’s being the most prominent—if you’ve seen the movie, you know what I’m talking about, and his rather funny and ironic send-off is much appreciated in the midst of this awful dreck), and the one most likely to fly over the kiddies’ heads is the fact that Shaggy’s love interest is named Mary Jane (“That’s my favorite name!”).

Tell me, does that give you an idea of how frantic I was in searching for gold amidst the crap? Does it give you an idea of how fantastically bad the entire experience was? I just gave you an extensive, generous list of the bright spots in "Scooby-Doo." Ladies and gentlemen, we have a strong contender for worst film of the summer (let’s give credit where credit is due, though—it is only the third worst film of 2002). "Scooby-Doo" is the most unpleasant, vile cinematic experience I’ve had since Chris Klein generously gave me an hour and a half of sleep in exchange for my $8 as I stared stupidly at "Rollerball." (I must note that this is not as bad as "Crossroads," but since it had Britney Spears in underwear it was a more rewarding experience while it lasted.)

The cartoon is not great—sometimes fun, sometimes awful—but no matter how much you enjoy the source material, I don’t think it’s debatable that “Scooby-Doo” is simply not right for the big screen. The film does a perfect job of adapting the cartoon’s visuals, and it frequently looks awful. In other words, this is a mess that visually could never be saved. Still, it could have been funnier than it is. The film is two more shots of Freddie Prinze Jr. from being downright unbearable; when the gang broke up six minutes into the film, I foolishly hoped the film was over (I mean, hey, Pamela Anderson and Sarah Michelle Gellar have already been shown—why not leave while you’ve gotten your mom’s money’s worth?), but, much to my horror, the film went on, which meant more terrible special effects, more putrid “funny” jokes (the kids these days…my theater was roaring with laughter!), more Freddie Prinze Jr., and less Rowan Atnikson. By God, Raja Gosnell, I demand that you give me back the part of my brain that houses my experience of watching "Scooby-Doo"! A person with such awful emotional scars can be dangerous.


-Alex, June 2002