Scary Movie 2
The survivors of last year's Wayans brothers teen slasher spoof stare death in the face again when they stupidly agree to participate in a hush-hush experiment staged in a haunted house. Things naturally start to go bump in the night, resulting in an outburst of violence and a torrent of bodily fluids.
Is anything more frightening than realizing that a desperate and hackneyed sequel to a desperate and hackneyed parody required the work of seven writers? Yes, seven writers, including brothers Shawn and Marlon Wayans. Perhaps one group of writers divided their time poking fun at the latest pop culture phenomenons while the other group concocted new and disgusting ways to drench their cast in vomit, urine, excretion and semen. The result: a tired, tasteless and uninspired send-up of The Exorcist and The Haunting, complete with jibes at Nike's new Stomp-inspired basketball commercials and the Florida presidential election fiasco. Our heroes-plus some fresh meat--spend the night in the haunted Hell House as part of an experiment conducted by mad professor Tim Curry. Naturally, they find themselves tormented by the ghost of the house. Cue sexual humiliations, mutilations and giant wedgies.
So the sequel ignores the fact that some of its cast members perished or were implicated in the first film's murders. Were you expecting a semblance of logic to permeate the proceedings? Anna Faris, as the virginal Cindy; Marlon Wayans, as pothead Shorty; Shawn Wayans, as the closeted gay Ray; and Regina Hall, as the pushy Brenda, return. They are joined by Tori Spelling, wasted as a coed obsessed with her ghostly host; Curry, hammy as the professor willing to sacrifice his students; David Cross, hysterical as Curry's wheelchair-bound assistant whose self-reliance causes more problems than necessary; and Chris Elliott, a hoot as the mansion's caretaker whose withered left hand generates more laughs than almost all the script's woeful cracks at satirizing its intended targets. All prove game, especially Faris, who finds herself up to her neck in all kinds of nasty goo in the name of comedy.
If only director Keenen Ivory Wayans made an effort to be funny rather than just shocking. He seems intent on making the sequel so much more outrageous than his first film that he forgets to make us laugh for the right reasons. The chuckles mask the slight disgust at seeing Faris dripping in semen or Shawn Wayans sodomizing a demonic clown (but the sight of Cross fellating himself is an amusing way to emphasize his character's doggedness). Wayans' attempts at parodying What Lies Beneath and Hannibal flounder, but he does a fine job sending up John Woo's dove-filled climax to Mission: Impossible 2. There's nothing more lazy than tearing into The Exorcist--it's 28 years old!--and it's sad to see James Woods demean himself as a priest with a taste for little girls. Woods stepped in for Marlon Brando, whose poor health cost him a reported $2 million but saved him his dignity.
The first film promised no sequel. Too bad the Wayans brothers failed to keep their word.