#45 | August 13 - 26, 1998  

The Saturday Night Live cast of a few years ago was probably the strongest since that classic season when Eddie Murphy, Christopher Guest, etc., were all on the program. There was Mike Meyers-consistently hilarious. Phil Hartman had the insidious charm of that friendly next-door neighbor whom you suspect (but can never can quite prove) is molesting your kids. David Spade was flawless when it came to being a prick. Dennis Miller-at least until his head swelled and his "obscure" cultural references became just another tedious affectation in the world of stand-up-was a lovable prick in his own right on the news desk. Chris Farley was the goofiest obese coke-head you could ever hope to meet. And Adam Sandler, in addition to beloved recurring characters like Opera Man, had an uncanny knack for turning those beating-a-long-dead-horse segments into side-splitting bits of comic subversion simply by virtue of his bumbling charisma-as with the disturbing Herlihy Boy Baby-sitting Service skit, which apparently only I kept watching long enough to witness.

A move to the West Coast-with varying degrees of success-was inevitable. Miller has mixed supporting roles with his runaway ego-machine of an HBO show. Hartman established himself comfortably in prime-time TV before his nutburger wife decided it was check-out time for them both. Meyers has been the biggest success, in terms of both commerce and actual laughs.

I had expected Sandler to be a close runner-up to Meyers in Hollywood, but he stumbled at the gate. Airheads had some potential, but in the end it remained well to the "stupid" side of the Spinal Tap demarcation line. Even one-gag Spade/Farley vehicles compared favorably against Sandler's outlandish premise-without-a-script failures.

But with The Wedding Singer, Adam seems to have figured out how best to work the big screen. In fact, this movie works so well-whether as deftly handled '80s nostalgia, seamless blending of humor brows from low to high (or at least upper-middle), or even sentimental romantic comedy-and is such a perfect match of performer, role, and script that favorable comparisons with Austin Powers or Fletch, first-generation SNL alum Chevy Chase's supreme achievement, are not entirely out of place.

The key here is the music-an assortment of hits (often performed by Sandler himself) that frequently appear on "Sounds of the '80s" collections. Obvious choices, yes, but they get the job done. From Sandler's opening rendition of that Dead or Alive record-spinning song to Steve Buscemi's soulful "True," each captures the moment superbly.

Pop quiz time-and remember it's 1985 here. Answers below. Peek if you like. I don't give a fuck. (1) What does a Gremlin-driving Drew Barrymore sing alone in her room? (2) When her dickhead, junk-bond salesman of a fiancee (in salmon-colored suit with T-shirt underneath) pulls up in his DeLorean, what tune blasts from within? (3) What is the only song in the vocal repertoire of George, Sandler's cross-dressing keyboardist? (4) Which mid-tempo number by Journey, when arranged for string quartet, is appropriate processional music for an outdoor wedding? (5) At his first wedding gig after being stood up at the altar, with what cheerfully nihilistic rock anthem does Sandler open the reception? Extra Credit: What MTV-inaugural tune is needlessly remade in typically unimaginative '90s fashion by the post-grunge Seattle trio Presidents of the USA, then played during the closing credits?

Needless to say, the "White Wedding" video appears at just the right moment, and Billy Idol himself-in his continuity-defying late '90s state-even makes one of a small handful of terribly effective cameo performances. This sort of thing is almost always overdone, but here the guest list is kept to a minimum. Jon Lovitz rears his ugly, slimy head as a rival singer, but beats a hasty retreat before making a flabby nuisance of himself. Frankie Carbone from GoodFellas is a silent presence as Sandler's brother-in-lawÉsilent, that is, until his graphic revelation (to Adam) of the depraved nipple-twisting that has become of he and Adam's sister's "once-wild" sex life. Creepy stuff.

But the cameo that takes the cake is Steve Buscemi as an ill-chosen best man. Steve's the quintessential black sheep-hated by his father, jealous of his more successful brother (the new groom), veteran of several drug-rehab clinics, and piss-drunk by the time he gives his speechÉ definitely not a guy who should be given a live microphone before a hall full of churchgoing aunts and uncles. Along with the obvious humor of this situation, I also relived some bittersweet memories from my only sister's recent wedding. For his best man my new brother-in-law had chosen his oldest, dearest friend-a semi-literate named Mike who earlier had threatened to skip the ceremony because he couldn't afford the tux-rental fee. In addition to carrying at all times a modest amount of the least potent weed I've encountered in the US since junior high, Mike was also not much of a public speaker. His brief oration could not have amounted to more than 20 words along the only-slightly-abridged lines of "Pat [brother-in-law] good, Michelle [sister] seem good, too. Wish all happiness." And with that glasses were raised, some were emptied, and the meal service began. Were I my father (all logistics aside), I would certainly have demanded more words and/or content for my reception dollar.

But the real tragedy was that a genuine Steve Buscemi-type was sitting at the bridal table all along-one of Pat's brothers, no less. Not Will, the thirtysomething born-again home-schooling adherent. I'm talking about the coke-head middle brother who for some reason is distrusted by both mother and father. He even wears a sleazy little mustache. Who knows what tales he might have shared had the solemn duty of the speech fallen to him.

As it turned out, I found out later that night as we downed tequila and Yuengling lager at a trashy after-hours club in my hometown, and in retrospect I suppose it's best that he wasn't best man. I don't know about Pat's family, but we have more than a few Bible-thumping aunts and uncles who would have been none too pleased to hear about whores and the like while they were in their finest apparel.

The moral here, of course, is that weddings are always more eventful in the movies than in real life, so go see The Wedding Singer before you're married and deceased yourself.

If you seek cinema having absolutely nothing to do with the institution of marriage, you could see Wag the Dog. Unfortunately, it's also not a very good movie. Here's a quick rundown of this critical darling's more egregious violations.

#1: Directed by Barry Levinson. To the rotund critic, this means a "highly professional" production by a true industry "professional." Which for you means Rain Man at best, The Firm at worst.

#2: Screenplay co-written by David Mamet. As you might've heard, this "smart, talky script" from "America's most distinguished playwright" is a "verbal ballet between two men who love the jargon of their crafts." Remember that last bit. If Flaubert were alive today, he would certainly have Mamet in his Dictionary of Received Ideas, and the entry would go something like this: "Unsurpassed master of all jargons. At small gatherings, remark favorably upon his verbal ballet." Mamet is a master of jargon-the kind used by critics and other dramatists. Which is why he is so acclaimed by them. What about co-author Hilary Henkin-is she even mentioned in any reviews? Of course not. She's not America's most-distinguished playwright.

#3: Dustin Hoffman. His capacity for overacting seems only to increase over time. He has a bouffant hairdo for a prop, so watch out. If he gets any worse we'll change his name to Dreyfus.

#4: Lame cameos by anything-for-a-film-credit pseudo-celebs like Jay Leno. Self-explanatory.

#5: Score by Mark Knopfler. Not a fault in itself, but it certainly becomes one when the music is Boomer-friendly noodling that would soothe those who thought Brothers in Arms was too "metal."

#6: Anne Heche. Heche is not the problem per se, but rather her bringing to mind of her partner, Ellen with the canceled sitcom. The funny thing about Ellen's histrionic emergence from the closet is that it helped Heche's career much more than her own. Ever since the announcement Heche has been a constant presence on movie screens along with such distinguished leading men as Harrison Ford. Further proof that it doesn't pay to be ugly and completely untalented in Hollywood.

You might take Robert De Niro to be a mitigating factor in all this, but guess again. Look at the thoughtful stare, the beard, and the ridiculous tweed hat-that's all you'll get out of him in this one. OK, so maybe he'll stroke the beard a little bit.

If that's your idea of a worthwhile movie-going experience, you might as well shove a copy of the new Smashing Pumpkins CD up your ass and go for a swim in a storm drain. Have fun.

QUIZ ANSWERS