Third Time's Not the Charm
'Shrek the Third' brings nothing new and fewer laughs
By Andy Klein
It's a tough call which is a more blighted concept - the sequel or ...What should we call the third in a series? The threequel? The sequel squared? The death knell?
Looking at Shrek the Third, I was reminded of Spider-Man 3: that is, in both cases the new installment is perfectly entertaining, but also disappointing. I'm beginning to wonder whether I should fashion a boilerplate review for Third Episode Exhaustion Syndrome. (Might as well get an early start on next week's Pirates of the Caribbean.)
Has there ever been a great third entry? Well, yes. But if you make certain distinctions, you can try to define what kinds of series are and aren't capable of generating one. The quality level of The Lord of the Rings trilogy was pretty even. And, fans don't seem to have much of an urge to rank them, since, after all, neither Tolkien's books nor Jackson's movies are as much a trilogy as they are one very long story broken up into three manageable sections.
The Matrix Revolutions was indeed awful, but it deserves its own category as Separately Released Second Half of an Overly Long Sequel That Couldn't Touch the Hem of the Original's Ultracool Long Black Coat. Not really a third entry at all.
Before you bring up Goldfinger - which many people (myself included) have always regarded as the pinnacle of the Bond films - let's point out that each title, as in most character-centered series, is a separate story, very rarely even acknowledging the existence of events from prior films. Sure, at the height of its archness, the series brought back both Richard Kiel's Jaws and Clifton James's Sheriff Pepper for second appearances. But it was more typical that, for instance, Cec Linder's Felix Leiter (in Goldfinger) didn't seem to recall anything that happened to Jack Lord's Felix Leiter in Dr. No.
To take the most classic example of a great-greater-worst progression, The Godfather spawned The Godfather Part II, one of the few sequels widely regarded as superior to its progenitor, and The Godfather Part III, just as widely regarded to be vastly inferior to either.
The original Shrek was, like any good story, complete unto itself. It made its point, resolved its plot, and ended. In Shrek 2, director Andrew Adamson and his collaborators contrived an excuse to essentially reiterate the thematic points of the first film. In terms of story, they dragged in Fiona's parents (John Cleese and Julie Andrews, both of whom return in the new installment). Rupert Everett's Prince Charming was an adequate substitute for John Lithgow's Lord Farquaad.
Of course, they retained Eddie Murphy's scene-stealing Donkey character, which was the most brilliant aspect of the first film, and they goosed things further, Lethal Weapon-style, by adding yet another sidekick - Puss in Boots, a swashbuckling kitty cat, wonderfully voiced by Antonio Banderas.
In the newest Shrek, three crises drive the plot: The King is on his death bed; Fiona is pregnant; and Charming is back, plotting his revenge. The introductory sequence is one of the funniest bits in the film: In the manner of Jesse-James-killer Robert Ford, Charming has been reduced to reenacting his struggles with Shrek in dinner theater ... very tacky dinner theater. Even in a make-believe setting, Charming's amazing lack of charm immediately alienates the audience.
He heads to the bar where all the fairytale bad guys hang out and convinces Captain Hook, Rumplestiltskin, and a gang of others that they can band together and finally become winners.
Meanwhile, back at the palace, the frog king croaks, naming Shrek as his heir. When Shrek correctly suggests he'd make a terrible king, Fiona's cousin Arthur (Justin Timberlake) is offered as the only alternative. Only as Shrek is sailing away does he learn that he will soon be hearing the cloddish pitter-patter of little ogre feet.
Shrek discovers Artie Pendragon, the not-yet-but-future king, to be the geek outcast at Worcestershire Academy; he guilt-trips him into reluctantly heading to Far Far Away to assume the throne. But before they arrive, the Charming Gang sweeps in and takes over.
A few weeks ago I complained that Spider-Man 3 had made the story murky and complicated by adding yet another new villain to the mix. It is not a sign of total inconsistency that this week I'll make the opposite complaint - Shrek number three doesn't add anything new.
Timberlake's Artie is, by plot necessity, a bland lad; Captain Hook doesn't have much to do; and the closest thing to a new sidekick character - Eric Idle's Merlin - is simply not in a league with Donkey or Puss. (Rarely has Idle been this unamusing.)
Yes, you're damned if you do continually up the ante, and damned if you don't - which is why it's generally, in aesthetic terms, a mistake to drag a good story out through triquels and quatrels and quintels, oh my. Unfortunately, this is one of many contexts in which monetary values are at odds with aesthetic values; it would be an act of corporate irresponsibility not to exploit a profitable franchise as far as the law of diminishing returns allows.
There are a number of good gags, provoking chuckles and chortles, but very few that reach the belly laugh level. The notion of a medieval equivalent of teen speech is funny but dragged out excessively. Many of the best jokes are pop song references.
But there is a much lower level of inspiration operating throughout this third visit to an ever-evaporating well. Perhaps it's the absence of Adamson in the director's chair - he segued into live action with the first Narnia film - but it's likelier that it's just a natural result of sequelization.
Back in the waning days of the TV series Taxi, Latka, Andy Kaufman's shy mechanic, suddenly took on the personality of "suave" Vic Ferrari, and when that grew old, Latka began to turn into the other characters, or maybe they turned into him. I'm not sure, because I've blocked the memories of that embarrassing spectacle - a painful downturn for a very inventive show.
Likewise aout halfway through Shrek the Third, Merlin - an absent-minded professor - casts a spell that has the unintended side effect of switching Donkey and Puss's identities. If there's any single bit that symbolizes the creative exhaustion here, that's it.
Published: 05/17/2007
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