You Don't Mess with the Zohan / Holland Oates
Film Reviews | June 6, 2008 | Comments ()
I didn’t think this weekend would arrive quickly enough. Thanks to the Sex and the City movie, it’s been two whole weeks since we’ve had a movie targeted toward men. And those weeks felt epochal. Women this, women that! Sheesh! And on top of that, even though a man won the Democratic nomination during that span, if felt like all anyone was talking about was that woman. Every time I turned on the goddamn TV, it was either Hillary Clinton or Carrie Bradshaw grinning back at me, threatening to turn the world upside down and confuse my wife into believing she ain’t gotta have dinner ready for me at the end of the day. The goddamn woman pert near put on shoes! I swear, I was afraid if I didn’t get my guy movie fix, and soon, I was going to start menstruating right there in my damn bass fishing boat! Lawwwd help me. And what’s up with all these womenfolk showing up at the movie theater without a man? It’s crazy. Ain’t no reason a woman ought to be gettin’ to the movie house less’ she’s going with her boyfriend, husband, or married workplace supervisor. Them concession stand lines must have been out the door and around the block, what with those indecisive ladies trying to figure out which combo had the least amount of calories (Hint: None of them).
Well, thank God for You Don’t Mess with the Zohan. Just like how every woman (and gay man) on the face of the Earth, without exception, loved Sex and the City, Zohan is a real guy’s guy movie. What does TBS call ‘em? Movie’s for guys who like movies? Well, that’s me! And let me tell you fellas, if you got a swinging dick and two spunk-spitting midgets between your legs, Zohan is the movie for you. It is a typical dumb man’s movie, and since all men are morons, all men, without exception, are going to love it. And boy is it retarted! It’s not too often I can not only turn my brain off, but also unplug the sumbitch and still understand what’s going on most of the time. And that’s the glory of Zohan. You ain’t gotta have more than 3 brain cells to enjoy it — one to buy the movie ticket, one to find your seat, and the other to scratch your Richard whenever Emmanuelle Chriqui comes on the screen. Better still, you don’t even need this review to know if you oughta see it or not. All you gotta do is ask yourself one simple question: Are you a member of the homo saypenis? If you are, then you’re guaranteed to love this movie, just like you love football, huntin’, NASCAR, and playing with yourself.
Don’t Mess with Zohan tells the story of Zohan (guy’s guy, Adam Sandler), one of them ethnic furriners with funny Jewish accents (note: In a man’s world, all fake accents are funny) who is a secret agent over in Israyell (which I understand is near the holy land, where our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ played pee-wee football). His people and the Palestinians are like the Razorbacks and the Longhorns; they got some kind of long-standing rivalry over a few hundred acres of land on the other side of Conway. Zohan is some sort of James Bond counter-terrorist fella with weird curly hair, who can catch bullets with his nose and grill fish and thrust his buttocks simultaneously (I don’t know why they felt it necessary to show Sandler’s bare ass all the time, though; it made me really uncomfortable, in kind of a good way, and that’s confusin’). Only problem is, he’s tired of being a real man, so — when pitted against his Palestinian arch-nemesis, Phantom (John Turtorro) — he fakes his death so he can move to New York City and cut and style hair for a living, which, on the one hand, is gay, but on the other hand, makes for a lot of opportunities to make fun of the gays, which I appreciate since I need humor to ease some of the discomfort I have with my own sexuality.
Once he arrives in New York City, he eventually settles down at a rundown Palestinian hair salon owned by Dalia (Chriqui). There, because of Zohan’s bump n’ style technique (he cuts overweight elderly women’s hair, then fucks them from behind in a back room), he develops a large client base, who appreciate it when he rubs his stiffy up against ‘em. Only problem is, he falls head over hoo-ha for Dalia, loses the ability to tap old-lady ass, and eventually his old life catches up with him when a Palestinian cab driver played by the comedic geneyus, Rob Schneider, recognizes him as the same man who stole his soup-drinking goat back in Israel. A few phone calls, a Neosporin bomb, and a hackey-sack showdown later, the Phantom tracks him down in New York City. Then Mariah Carey shows up, and stuff starts to get weird.
I probably don’t have to tell you, but if you’re a straight man, it’s the funniest movie of the year. It all starts with Sandler, probly the greatest guy’s guy actor since Eastwood. The man knows how to par-tay, and in Zohan, he shines in what’s his best role since The Waterboy. It doesn’t get much funnier than hacky-cat, or a scene where he makes his boner twirl around in his pants all by itself, of another where he gets a softie trying to bone “The Facts of Life” Mrs. Garrett. And then there’s Rob Schneider, a guy’s guy with the versatility to shoot manjuice out his nose in one movie and play a convincing ethnic cab driver in other (it’s all in the awesome make-up effects, y’all!). Plus, most of Sandler’s regular crew is around and they are, as always, HI-larious. John Turturro, who is usually one of them indie pansies, was pretty good, too, even though his accent was a little too authentical for me (it’s harder to separate the actor from the ethnic furriener when it’s that convincing).
And let me tell you what else: The humor is awesome. Mostly, it’s tit-rip-roaring political humor — smart jokes about how Hillary Clinton has awesome legs, but Cindy McCain would be the better lay since she’s so hard up (ha!). Plus, there’s an awesome moral in the end, about how Pakistanis and Jews should just get along and stop all their fighting, because when it comes down to what’s important — slamming honeys! — we’re all the same, really. Of course, while nine out of ten jokes work, they can’t all be winners — there is some weird, Anchorman-like absurdlist humor, which just sort of goes over my head while I’m scratching it (thankfully, there’s not much of that). But even though there is a lot of political stuff, it ain’t too deep, and there’s enough stuff about having sex with old people and other sexual inyouindos to offset it.
In the end, to sum up, Don’t Mess with the Zohan is really just a balls-out, pedal-to-the-mettle, off-the-meat-market awesome movie. Don’t expect a lot of hibrow book smarts — it’s just a laugh-out loud silly movie with a ton of slapstick comedy that will tickle your funny bone and your other bone, too (get it?). But be warned — if you’re a girl, you’ll hate it; there’s nothing about shopping or weddings or deep meaningful conversation in Zohan. If that’s what you want, then go see Sex and the City. I hear it’s a doozy of a chick flick (though, not from my wife, cause I ain’t about to let her out of the house to see that trash, ‘less she get some ideas). But, if you’re a guy, and you can check your brain at the door, this is the movie for you!
*Today’s review conceit inspired by greer.
Holland Oates lives in Pennsyltucky, Pennsylvania. He bleeds E-A-G-L-E-S green. He has been an Amazon.com reviewer for three years and has written over 150 reviews. He would like to say hello to his wife and, if Megan Fox is reading this, CALL ME. Seacrest Out.
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