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so… she has to… she… (sobbing)… so smooth…so very smooth… Please excuse this outburst. And, of course, outbursts to follow. Our Lizzie McGuire preview opens at what I am hoping is at least a high school graduation. Hoping? Praying, really. God, she's so hot! MAN! She is totally 18, right? It's just so... fucking — Lots of people graduate a year late, right? So smooth… so smooooooottthhhhh... mmmmm… just want to YOU STAY AWAY! YOU STAY AWAY FROM HER! Again, I apologize. "Welcome to the most important day of my life," Lizzie's voice over announces. "My big chance to show the world who I am." Illegal but tempting? While this is true, and indeed seems to be the entire point of Disney's morally bankrupt marketing scheme (i.e. casting a whack-calibre female protagonist who may or may not have had her first period to lure in adolescent male viewers), the preview takes us in a slightly different, more tepid direction. Lizzie's arch nemesis Katie (for surely a less weighty phrase could only fail in describing the epic relationship of these two unfriendly classmates, no doubt a Herculean struggle involving Diet Coke and sparkly lip gloss) soon shows up and, to my utter delight, unzips Lizzie's graduation gown. Then to my utter disappointment, the reveal shows no skin, just more clothes underneath. (whispered) For now. Katie, having unmasked Lizzie's clothing choice, goes Rickles on her and lobs the unassailable taunt:"You are an outfit repeater." The gauntlet has been dropped, apparently, although it seems odd to chastise someone for wearing a graduation gown to, in this case, a graduation ceremony. I mean, yes, she kind of stole your look — but most see this as the point. At any rate, still no skin. We then cut to Lizzie tripping and pulling down a large curtain on the graduation stage, covering all her fellow students, a graduating class of maybe fifty. The trailer wants to give us the impression that these kinds of stumble-assed shenanigans occur often for poor Lizzie. This being the case, again, why harp on the graduation gown, Katie? Huh, you stupid bitch? What — and I'm sorry. I guess I just don't "get" Katie, with her entirely gown-based insult scheme. Katie just loses me entirely.
We're soon reminded of the non-existent "real issues" level in Disney films when, in the next shot, Lizzie McGuire (who looks like she's about to cry even though she's really about to make me cry, good god she has a pretty mouth) complains that nothing ever goes her way. Looking in a mirror, Lizzie tosses aside four or five expensive and (I would imagine, the tease) form-fitting blouses. That's it? She can't find a shirt? I know rich white teenagers are known for being a little dramatic when things don't go right, but it's usually for slightly more important things, like not getting into the best college, maybe getting a dent in dad's beamer, or, for instance, coming home to find that the help has murdered your parents for three years of back pay. They should have just paid Ms. Lopez. Why didn't you pay her, mom? Anyway, Lizzie's going to solve her shirt shortage and other existential life problems with an all-paid trip (of course it's paid) to her favorite city, Rome. In Disney's take on Rome — DisneyRome™! — the eternal city consists entirely of a flock of pigeons, one padre riding an old bicycle, and, because this movie is this movie, ONE MAGIC FOUNTAIN. I know what you're thinking, that this seems somewhat incongruous, but don't worry; we're in good hands. It's Disney. Lizzie tosses a coin that shoots off magical sparks during its parabolic journey into the fountain. No one of course notices. It's only a magic fountain after all. This is old hat to the citizens of Rome. They've been making their dreams come true for eons.
Long story short: Lizzie doesn't take any clothes off. Sadly, all that happens is she is mistaken for the pop star's ex girlfriend/singing partner, and she steps in as a doppelganger, with no one the wiser. Eventually she falls in love, learns to duck when the young man turns around, avoiding a tragic enormous lapel stab to the eye, and becomes famous — but only in Europe, so it doesn't actually count. Her parents eventually find out about the whole not-sordid-at-all business through a cheap European tabloid they just happen to subscribe to. It's all pretty straightforward. In the process I am sure she learns a couple of valuable lessons, like blah blah blah, Jesus Christ. The movie? A horror story of unparalleled mundanity. The trailer? A mildly successful attempt to attract a horny-teenage-boy and 26-year-old-comedy-writer market. Therefore, I give Disney's latest latently racist submission 2 ˝ Billy Crystals. And for me, a nice cold shower, with my clothes on. Mmmm…..Lizzie.
RATING: |
Unless
you have spent the same countless hours as I have online, searching
feverishly yet discreetly for "Lizzie" memorabilia like autographs,
photos, scraps of clothing (hopefully from the undergarment family),
and those hard-to-find home addresses, you will never understand Lizzie
McGuire. You will never know what it is to love a pure and true love
for another human being — unconditional, without judgment, regardless
of age, distance, or age. I'm sorry. That's just the way it is. So,
outsider, you should just give up and leave this movie to those of us
who love Lizzy McGuire, and I mean really love everything about her,
love the way her downy soft hair feels (in my dreams), the way her strawberry
sweet skin tastes (in my dreams), the way she trembles her first time
as you GET AWAY FROM HER! She's mine, you lecherous, scheming fuck-rat
bastards! She doesn't want you! She wants me! She wants — I
mean, she said — well, the chat site said, admittedly, but
it had to be her, had to…oh, Lizzie... 
Anyway.
So far, the tale of an unusually ripe high school girl, wealthy enough
to afford private schooling, whose only major problems are poorly timed
pratfalls and one bitchy classmate, has not really gripped my attention.
At this point we are reminded 
Lizzie
turns around and voila — or rather Aye, BAM!, this
is Rome after all — a young man dressed like a porn star from
the 70's is giving her hug-me puppy dog eyes straight out of the Backstreet
Boys 1996 calendar. (*cough* — I would assume, anyway).
My first thought here:"Ah yes, thank you. Oh yes, she'll have to
take it off now." Alas, the young man is not a porn star at all,
but Europe's hottest pop star who merely dresses like
a porn star. I thought this odd until I did some research — it
turns out everyone in Rome dresses this way, regardless of age, sex
or concern over pants volume.
