Ten years ago, when I looked down at my baby girl for the first time, I imagined so many wonderful things: shared hopes and dreams, teaching and learning, walking, talking, birthdays, Christmases, Easter egg hunts, fireworks, swimming, soccer, softball. The list could go on for pages.
It wasn't all going to be giggles. I was warned about diapers, and fevers, and skinned knees, and naughty little candy-sneaking fibbers. But I was never warned about the secret curse that comes with parenthood -- the horrible, secret curse of children's cinema.
As a parent, one is called upon, from time to time, to endure some of the worst films ever produced by Hollywood. Why? Because the kids have to see it. And if they show up on Monday at school, or swimming lessons, or wherever the kids are turning up on Monday, and the other kids have seen it, but your kids haven't, you will suffer a fate worse than the dreaded repetition of the "are we there yet?" vacation cry.
Tonight, I saw A Cinderella Story. If I had my way, I would have seen Dodgeball (which I've been trying to catch for several weeks) or Anchorman, or I, Robot, or the Terminal; maybe even Arthur. But I have two little girls, so I saw A Cinderella Story.
Not having seen that New York Minute thing the Olsen Twins foisted upon parents a few months ago, it may be unfair and premature for me to say this, but since I haven't seen New York Minute, I will assume that this statement is the truth: It is quite possible that A Cinderella Story sucks worse than any movie that has ever sucked.
The movie starts by showing the love between the dad and the daughter, Samantha. Samantha is played by Hilary Duff. If Hilary Duff was not in this movie, no one would go see it. But I digress.
We learn that the dad married a total biotch named Fiona, who is portrayed by the same actress who played Stifler's Mom. I found this casting decision distracting, but most of the audience (or so I would assume) was unfamiliar with her American Pie work, so I was probably in the minority there.
A few minutes into the film, Sam is sitting on her bed, reading fairy tales with her dad, when the Northridge earthquake strikes. Now, they could have called it any random earthquake, but for some reason, the filmmakers had to specify that this was, indeed, the Northridge quake. This also distracted me, because I lived through the Northridge quake. Like Sam, I was in my bed when the ground started shaking, but, it being 4:31 in the morning, I was not up reading fairy tales. So as I watched the scene unfold, I'm thinking "Why in the hell is this little girl awake at 4:31 a.m.?" We never quite find out.
After the ground has been shaking for about five seconds, Sam's snowglobe fairytale castle falls to the floor and breaks, and dad tells Sam he has to go. We are never told why Sam's dad has to leave when the ground starts to shake, but we are told that he promptly dies.
Sam's voiceover narration tells us that her dad died without a will, so Fiona got everything. Now, Fiona getting everything was an important part of the plot, through to the very end, but did they have to point out that the dad died without a will? Because the law in California provides that if a married person who has living children dies without a will, the kid(s) inherent at least half of the estate. Again, this was a distraction to me, but the majority of the audience was blissfully unaware of the error.
The most glaring error of the film, however, was the presentation of Sam as a geek. Sure, she gets bossed around by the wicked Stifler's Mom, and she has to work at a diner (and gets dubbed "Diner Girl" by the popular kids who spend their spare time in the diner), but, unlike, say, the chick in "She's All That" who was dressed funny and had dorky hair and glasses, Hilary Duff spends all of this time looking like Hilary Duff.
I may be getting older, but I'm not too old to remember high school. At my high school, girls who looked like Hilary Duff never ever turned into geeks. They were popular even if they didn't try to be popular. So I didn't buy the dorky Diner Girl bit for a second.
The film then borrows heavily from "You've Got Mail" and embarks upon a plot twist in which Sam starts an email relationship with "Nomad", who turns out to be Austin, the captain of the football team and the class president at her high school. Predictably, they keep passing each other without knowing that they are each other's secret love. Oh, the irony!
Austin, we learn, doesn't like being the guy everyone expects him to be. His father, a USC alumnus, wants him to go to USC on a football scholarship. Austin, however, wants to go to Princeton to be learn to be a writer. Since when does any Division I quarterback prospect choose Princeton over USC? Since never; that's when. As this point in the movie, they lost me for good.
The rest of the movie was a dull blur. They met at a costume dance. They liked. She disappeared. He tried to find out who she was. Imposters appeared. Her true identity was revealed. There were awkward embarrassments for all. She discovered her true self. He discovered his true self. They kissed. He blew his chance to start for the Trojans. And it all got wrapped up neatly in a sugary sweet ending that left me feeling like I had eaten three bags of Halloween candy in a single sitting. I wanted to regurgitate.
On the scale of five stars, I would give this movie no stars, unless you count old, collapsed stars that have become black holes, in which case I would give it five black holes out of five.
My daughters, however, who giggled throughout the picture, disagreed strongly. The older daughter gives it four stars on a scale of one to five. "A really great movie!" she said. The younger one was just as enthused. "There were a few sad parts, but the rest was perfect. Except the kissing parts."
Yes. There it is. The curse of parenthood. Children's cinema.
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