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It is an unbreakable rule of sequels that anything an audience enjoyed the first time around must be done again, except at twice the size, volume and speed. So whereas if Neo fights Agent Smith in The Matrix, and the audience enjoyed it, in The Matrix Reloaded Neo must fight a hundred Agent Smiths — at once, while blindfolded and on humorously small rollerskates. If the T-100 must battle an opponent who is twice as strong, fast and smart as he is in T2: Judgment Day, he will have to fight someone three times so in T3: Reprise of the Routine. If Angelina Jolie did anything remotely entertaining in Tomb Raider, then that's news to me; however, let's assume for the sake of argument that she did, and will do whatever that hypothetically entertaining thing might have been again, only doubly so, in Tomb Raider 2: Whatever the Title of the Film Might Be. The lesson here: Hollywood is under the impression that we don't want more of the same in our sequels, which is true. They assume, then, that we want much, much more of the same in our sequels, which isn't really true at all. So far North American audiences have been polite enough not to say anything. Bringing us to American Wedding, and how the Law of Exponential Sequel Growth might apply to it. Now, keep in mind that all the big memorable stunts in the Pie franchise involve Jim (Jason Biggs), Jim's father (Eugene Levy), Jim's penis (Jason Biggs's penis) and some manner of profound embarrassment involving the three. In the first American Pie, for instance, Jim's parents walk in on Jim masturbating into an old sock (Fig.1). Elsewhere in the same film, Jim becomes convinced that thrusting his sinful business into a hot apple pie is a worthy sex substitute, and gets caught mid-pump by his father (Fig.2). For the sequel, poor Jim accidentally glues his hand to his penis, then flees naked out onto his roof, where he is swiftly and sensibly apprehended by the police (Fig.3). Jason Biggs: Portrait of PenisShame ®
Given the constant sequel-to-sequel escalation of penis-based humiliation at play here, one can only imagine how worried Biggs must have been, wondering what the professional sadists who write the Pie franchise would have him do this time around. Luckily, if the trailer for American Wedding is any indication, Mr. Biggs need not have worried. His genital shame for the third Pie film seems to have actually subdued itself somewhat from the last two, opting for subtlety over low humor. Here's a helpful scene-by-scene breakdown:
Embarrassing Confession: I feel I should admit, in the interest of full disclosure, that I have thus far immensely enjoyed the American Pie series, not merely for the vast amounts of Biggs-brand PenisShame® available for the low price of a movie ticket. I actually genuinely liked most, if perhaps not all, of the characters involved. The casting in these films to date has been fantastic. I liked Jim, in all rights a pretty likeable guy. I liked Alyson Hannigan's flute-spelunking Michelle. I liked seeing them fumble around and eventually get together. I liked Finch's attempts to seduce older women. I liked Stifler's attempts to make Finch miserable. It wasn't Shakespeare exactly, but it did what it did well, and I award the franchise full points for making a sequel that was as enjoyable as the original. Again, it's a fairly straightforward recipe; but having seen so many Hollywood vehicles substitute salt for sugar on the ingredients list, finding a film that gets a recipe right not once but twice is nothing short of a culinary miracle. So, having made such a painful admittal, I'm left wondering what to make of American Wedding. Will it be an entertaining continuation of a story involving enduring characters? Or a quick cash-in on a franchise that's already run its course? I find it's usually a good yardstick to a sequel's quality to find out how many of the original stars bothered to appear in it; and as far as I can tell, most of the cast makes a return appearance here. The only notable exceptions, in fact, aren't even very notable. I remember when the first Pie came out, many applauded the comedy for having such vibrant female characters, a rarity in most sex farce comedies. Flashing forward several years to now, I'm at a loss to remember a single character trait about the leading ladies (well, I remember desperately wanting to bone them, of course — but I mean character-wise). I recall the supporting females well — there was Hannigan's Michelle; also that druggie mentor girl. I remember that Jim was the hero of the story; Finch was the studious intellectual; Stiffler a big moron; Oz the earnest nice one. But I'm struggling to remember a single thing about Tara Reid's Vicky or Mena Suvari's Heather, other than Tara Reid's alarmingly moist eyes. (I recognize that glistening eyes is supposed to be an alluring quality in women, but I wonder if Reid's taken the premise too far. I left the last film wondering if she'd heat-gunned her eyes with epoxy coating.) At any rate, whatever
it was Reid and Suvari were doing in the first two Pies, they
won't be doing it in Wedding, as they're not in it. Perhaps
Tara was too busy reading the script for Josie & The Pussycats
2: A Film That Will never Be Made. Apparently Chris Klein's "Oz"
character will also be peddling his earnest niceness elsewhere. I don't
have any information as to whether they weren't asked back or simply
demanded too much money for their participation — though I secretly
hope the latter, since I can't think of anything more hilarious than
the three dullest characters in a hit franchise having the stones to
ask for ludicrous amounts of money. "Ten million or I walk!"
I see Mena Suvari yelling to her agent in between unwomanly gulps of
Fresca. "They know damn well American Pie 3 won't make a
dime unless my vague, nondescript character is in it!" Either way, it's hard to fault a franchise like Pie for not being able to get every single participant back for a sequel, since there were something like twenty-seven characters in the first two. Statistically, someone's got to be busy doing something else; washing their hair, filing taxes, perhaps applying another coat of gloss to their eyes. The only truly notable no-shows here are creators Paul and Chris Weitz, who last surfaced directing the infinitely watchable About a Boy. In truth, though, I wonder if films like these even demand name-brand directors. Does it really matter who's pointing the camera at a flailing Jason Biggs falling off a roof with a hand glued to his penis? The important thing here is only that someone is there recording the moment for posterity, so that I don't miss a single moment of his humiliating antics. I can't wait
to see him get raped by those bears. RATING:
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