But MacGruber never gathers any momentum. Once in a while a funny line or absurd sight gag will amble into the foreground, only to recede immediately in the rear-view mirror of memory. Forte is handsome enough — he’s ruggedly chiseled and all that. But watching at him strut about, in his quilted vest and plaid-shirt getup, wearing a retro hairdo that’s simultaneously too-pouffy and too-matted, becomes exhausting after a while. The movie is also conspicuously lacking in gadgety ridiculousness: At one point MacGruber drags out a box full of rubber bands, Q-tips and the like and proceeds to fiddle around with them — sticking a penny into his belly-button, for example, presumably on the assumption that it will come in handy later. Later, when faced with the task of disarming an explosive in 1.2 seconds or something like that, he panics at the riotous array of colors found in the tangle of wires before him. Here and there, he improvises: A leafy celery stick stuck pertly into a certain orifice momentarily distracts and astounds some evil-doers. But it doesn’t do much to distract or astound us.
[. . .]
But the only actor here who breathes any life into the movie’s misguided nostalgia is Wiig. [. . .] In MacGruber, Wiig at least gets to rock her look: She’s the kind of girl who’s genuinely flattered by Farrah Fawcett wings and even, bizarrely enough, by twinkly blue eye shadow. Wiig’s timing is, as usual, perfect in its wiggly-waggly way, even though the gags that have been written for her don’t do it justice. (Kitsch Overload, Sparse Laughs Weigh Down MacGruber, Movieline, 21 May 2010)
I wouldn't expect anything clever from Forte. On SNL he's just sign that when your colleagues seem love-starved and vampiric, it's enough to just be amiable and relaxed -- to seem like you can readily move beyond yourself to attend to and appreciate other people -- to be welcome (necessary) company. He's into the relaxed and goofy -- that's it's not inspired may be even more good news -- no stirring, no agitation. We may be in the mood to knock on his door, we may not. But we likely appreciate he's out there doing exactly as we would expect -- friendly, and not so good (talented) it inspires our fear of losing him.
Wiig is a vampire. Long-lived, she may be the one who drained Jim Henson to the point of death, just to bring closer an age where she and her kin could more readily thrive.
Doesn't comments like the one above verge on some sort of bizarre poetry? It's like they speak a language which is similar but beyond our own... (SUNNYDAZE)
I was going to say the EXACT SAME THING, only about Ryan Phillipe, and Judy Carne from "Laugh-In." (FORMERLY BLACKWATER)
I think someone writes their comment into the BabelFish translator and clicks "Translate" from whatever the native language is into English, then just copies and pastes. Kind of makes me dizzy, but I can't stop re-reading it, trying to force it into making sense.
Or it's kind of Def poetry commenting. Def-Poe-Com. (SWEETBISCUIT)
Def-Poe-Com! Finally a name for what we regulars do!
Who wants to be the first to start a Tumblr? (SUNNYDAZE)