The Majestic: Review By B. Alan Orange

Code Orange Alert #38697: "The Mysterious Death of Jim Carrey's Dramatic Acting Career."

I was driving around town tying up a few loose ends when I got the call. A murder had just occurred, and they wanted me on the scene to investigate. First, I had to file a report with my secretary: 1) Ocean's 11 wasn't as bad as initial reports were indicating. Though, it wasn't as good either. Soderbergh had left a rather flat, straight white line for us to examine. While easy to sit through, there was little weight left to prove its significance. Then, 2) I'd just checked out the new trailer for 40 Days, 40 Nights. It contains two short (at 3 seconds apiece) glimpses of Mag-G; nothing to get worked up about. She was a case I'd have to seek out much later.

That aside, I was in route to Warner Brothers Studios in Burbank. It was there that I'd find all the clues leading up to the Mysterious Death of Jim Carrey's Dramatic Acting Career:

I arrived on the lot at 2:30 in the afternoon. After dodging the "heightened security" checkpoints with my fake ID, The Orange hit stage 19. In full view of the crime scene, I was shocked to find blood and a familiar-looking chalk outline sprawled across much of the concrete. Police lines had the area decorated in yellow tape. I graciously ducked the barricade to survey the evidence. There was a lot of it. One of the security guards arrived on a motorized golf cart to handhold me through the wreckage.

We decided to start at the beginning, taking a look at Carrey's previous work as a Dramatic Actor. The guard knew all about Jim's quaint history in film. I wanted to go with the Cable Guy, but he clearly pointed out, that, while the piece did hold some validity, it wasn't his first: Once Bitten, considered a direct-to-video B-comedy, held many moments of pure straight drama. It was the first time Carrey appeared as lead in a movie, and it was the first and only time, for a long time, that he would hold his face in place without contorting it like a Rubik's Cube made of Silly Putty.

While The Dead Pool is a gritty crime drama, the sight of Carrey lip-synching in Axl Rose mode to Paradise City is probably the funniest thing to ever appear in a Clint Eastwood movie. It doesn't account for much. We had to start where he'd openly admitted wanting something more out of his career. Like marriage to a slut-eyed whor*, comedy was a distancing point that really began with the Truman Show. The film received mixed reviews from critics and audiences alike. One important aspect to consider: Truman did offer many small opportunities for Carrey's comedic light to shine. It wasn't a completely serious Sissy Spacek-type role. There was hope that he could truly transform himself into Oscar caliber range, just like Tom Hanks.

At that point in time, the Academy didn't think so. As a follow-up, Carrey sidestepped his breadwinning vocation and went for a bio-pic. Staying close to home, he played comedian Andy Kaufman in Man on the Moon. Here, we had a very fine dramatic performance. Yet, it was steeped in clowning, and Carrey was merely mimicking a known persona. He didn't have to rely on creating this guy from scratch. Perhaps that is why the Academy also overlooked this attempt at winning them over.

I was left with but one conclusion. It stared me in the face, willingly sticking out its tongue as if to say, "You'll never work in this town again." The Majestic: Its insides had been gutted and dragged across the lot, left to stink in the sinking afternoon Sun. What Jim Carrey has done here is not easily explained away. The movie strips clean everything we know about the man. It robs him of his charm, his comedic timing, his goofy air. In their place, The Majestic leaves this boring, saturated actor who is starting to show signs of age in a once youthful face. The man has drowned on the screen in an ocean of flop-sweat. Carrey wanders, looking painfully out of his element. The contents of the script all but sever his head, leaving his chin to dangle in the wind like a bobbing tetherball.

Our victim is not the one too blame. The Majestic has leapt to its feet in presentation of an alibi. I'm not buying it. Some very distinguished critics have. I'm supposed to exonerate The Majestic, free from these pending charges. Capra-esque means that it's of a freer, excessively charming time period. It's a disconnect from reality. Pure genius, I have to let go to enjoy its subtle charm. Why should I have to do anything? If I'm not enjoying it, I'm not enjoying it. You can't strap it to a boot and kick it down my throat. It is what it is: The Majestic is a criminal; a killer of careers and a time thief. I don't like this "film", and it's my duty to see it into jail. The evidence proves this much.

The director deserves a heap of condemnation. Before filming, Frank Darabont took Jim Carrey aside, demanding the comedian leave his shtick at home. Carrey was to forget everything he knew about "the craft" of acting. Darabont wanted a fresh, tick-free performance. Instead, he stumbles upon a blank slate more vacant than the amnesia riddled communist Jim's decided to play here. A sad turn of events, to be sure.

Darabont is no Kenny Rogers: He knows neither when to hold them or when to fold them. Here is an excruciatingly long movie that never stops stretching its already Flockhart-thin plot premise. The Majestic is a passable 80 minute story told in a numbing three hours. Frank is famous for making awkwardly drawn-out films. That this should play as lengthy as Fellowship of the Ring is an audience massacre. Nothing happens, and then nothing happens, bookended by a subplot about the communist blacklisting of Hollywood studios back in the day.

The Majestic is shockingly bad considering the talent involved. We've got people screaming for the head of Glitter. From the get-go, we knew that was a bad seed unable to reevaluate itself back into society. The Majestic was our quiet next-door neighbor. We should have known it would turn out to be a sh*t-turd cutthroat in a criminally minded society. Considering those who brought it to the table, The Majestic truly is a more circ*mspect piece. It shouldn't be this contrite. But it is.

Yes, The Majestic does support two surprising cameos. Bruce Campbell and the Idol (from Raiders of the Lost Ark's opening moments) make a quick appearance. That's no reason to weather the amount of seat suffering associated with this film. To watch an entire town wallow in its own stupidity is beyond words. How could they falsely recognize Carrey as this Luke guy? Jim bares little resemblance to Matt Damon, who plays the missing son Carrey is mistaken for. There is no identifying proof that Martin Landau could be Carrey's dad, either. They look as much like father and son as Gary Coleman and Lisa Kudrow. What the f*ck is that about? A grieving dad would know his own kid. I'm not buying into this premise.

Walking about in public, The Majestic has presented itself as a "movie about the movies." There is a section devoted to the renovation of an old theater, but it comes too late and plays itself off as a musical montage. Instead of spending time with this known convict, a smarter move would see you renting John Goodman's superior Matinee in the comfort of your own home this Holiday season.

The studio security guard nodded in agreement. He shook my hand, giving me permission to post this warning: A killer is loose, already having claimed it's most crucial victim. Jim Carrey's dramatic acting career is dead in the water; stabbed, bleeding, and beheaded for all to see. Take a not of caution. The Majestic is not to be trusted. Do not listen to other critics who have harbored this insane entertainment. It will harm and maim you in ways you can't possibly imagine.

(Would it really matter if I thought I was Eddie Vedder?)