Red Band Rant: Home Alone 2 Is Mediocre At Best

By Mack Rawden 2008-12-03 12:11:44discussion comments
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Oh my God. You are not going to believe what happened today. So, Iím engaged in a perfectly civil conversation with a Cinema Blend co-worker, Katey Rich, and she mentions some recent water cooler chit-chat about throwing together a list on holiday-themed movies. Naturally, this notion of yuletide motion picture merriment piqued my interest, as Iím a kind of a big softie who secretly likes a pleasant rendezvous with family, gingerbread cookies and getting to third base under the chimney; so, I tell her Iím on board with lending a participatory hand. We warmly reminisce about Elf, Miracle On 34th Street, and some other favorites until she has the nerve, the blatantly offensive candor to bring up Home Alone 2: Lost In New York, arguably the worst movie John Hughes was ever even loosely associated with. Youíre joking, I say, giving her the benefit of the doubt. But no. She was vehement about her infatuation with the product. Apparently, expressing enthusiasm while sitting through this mediocre, borderline farce of life itself is some kind of goddamn ritual in her family. Well, Katey, you ignorant slut, you may be my boss, but that doesnít mean I canít whip out my Dasher and spray Vixen all over your precious movie. Slingshot--Engage.

Since this is a sequel weíre discussing, itís probably imperative I include a paragraph talking about the first film. I could get all polysyllabic and wax like Iím a real journalist right now with Peter Travers-like nonsense about ahead-of-its-time camera angles and beautiful art direction, but I was like ten the first time I saw Home Alone. And it was awesome. Macaulay Culkin was a four foot badass. Buzzís girlfriend---woof. Some shit about John Candy and polka. It was all golden. I actually went home and included a Home Alone sequel in my before dinner prayer. I swear to God. I wanted more Kevin McAllister action that badly. Some people might say God listened to my childish hopes; more likely, the studio executives wiped their asses with my seven dollars and it felt nice. Either way, fuck that prayer.

You see--getting what you want isnít always advantageous. Like so many other teenagers of the internet generation, I spent much or my youth discussing how much I would pay to see Britney Spears naked. The amount itself would fluctuate wildly depending on the day, but it was always far more than my allowance allotted. Then I got my wish. Horrifying, soul-crushing, vomit-inducing images of Brit Britís vagina soiled into my retinas forever. Thatís what Home Alone 2: Lost In New York is--Britney Spearsí dilapidated vajayjay.

Say what you will about ridiculous plot holes in the first movie, but those bulbous craters pale in comparison to the mind-blowing ridiculousness of nearly every single goddamn event in the second film. First of all, there is no way fucking way Catherine OíHara would be enough of a self-absorbed train wreck to lose her kid a second time. Thatís just not possible. Have you ever seen motherís of kidnapped children on Nancy Grace? Theyíre like Gemini or Nitro guarding the cylindrical hoop things in Powerball. Kevin probably wouldnít be allowed to get his driverís license until his mid-thirties.

And youíre honestly gonna sit here and tell me Harry and Marv would break out of the same jail at the same time? Have you seen how much noise Marv makes doing basic, day-to-day activities? Heís like a geriatric pissing everyone off with a damn scooter. Harry is the brains behind the operation, and heís like forty-five or fifty years old. Heís not outrunning any guards or doing Catherine Zeta-Jones laser-avoidance gymnastics shit to duck underneath security cameras. He would break his hip or more likely, re-aggravate one of the thirty-seven thousand injuries he got in the first movie. Even Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman could tell you taking a blazing hot iron to the face might cause a few lingering scars, not to mention the emotional trauma of being manhandled and punish-fucked by an eight year old wiseass.

And you really think Tim Curry would let a fourth grader check into the Plaza Hotel? Heís not even smarter than a fifth grader. I know itís not the Ritz, but I guarantee that elegant establishment would have some sort of policy in place against letting hoodlum children gallivant about. You donít need to be the Hoover guy to figure out Kevin and his mischievous grin are up to no good. Plus, did you see Clue? Tim Curry figured out six murders in an hour and a half.

Donít even get me started on that creepy pigeon lady! The sociopath neighbor with the sad eyes in the first film at least served his purpose in making Kevin think he might be the one out to get him. His mere presence created a climate of confusion and mistrust, but being lost and alone in a modern-day Sodom with two fugitives who openly admit theyíd like to end your life is reason enough to get your Norman Schwarzkopf on. I donít give a fuck if she was the same woman who cared for Joseph Gordon-Levitt in Angels And The Outfield. Home Alone 2 isnít a horror movie. Unseemly old bird-enthusiasts donít need to be wasting screen time when their only function is to force a moral on the audience during the last five minutes. I want cleverly-constructed booby traps, not saggy old, defecated on titties.

And how convenient is it that the owner of the FAO Schwartz knockoff happens to still work even though he should be in a goddamn bed with Charlie Bucketís four grandparents? Pretty fucking convenient. And whatís with the turtle dove obsession? Who cares about turtle doves? Why do they become a central theme throughout the movie? Come to think of it, this entire film is strangely fixated on endothermic flyers. Robert Stroud probably did a few unaccredited rewrites on the script. Yes, I know thatís impossible. Donít you think if Iím educated enough to reference Robert Stroud, I would know he died decades ago? Asshole.

Home Alone 2: Lost In New York sucks. Itís a terrible premise, rushed into production to steal as much money as possible before anyone realized what happened. Unfortunately, rubes like my current boss, Katey Rich, have so much nostalgia stuck inside their asses that they canít properly evaluate this disaster. If it looks like shit and it smells like shit, itís probably Lost In New York.

This is the part where I end the article and you leave me comments about channeling Scrooge or being related to Rudolph Hess. Well, blow it out your ass. I love Kevin McAllister and Fuller and pretty much everyone except Buzzís fat ass from the first movie, but that doesnít mean Home Alone 2 is watchable. Itís not. If a prime Marilyn Monroe rose from the grave, asked you to hang out, and then made you help her move, youíd still have an awful time. Why? Because moving shit from one place to another sucks. The inclusion of Marilyn Monroeís fuck me eyes canít change that.

Read Katey's completely deluded and naive Green Band Rant here.
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