ORANGE COUNTY (2002) 1/2* Successful only in the sense that it evokes a quantum of nausea representative of that experienced by visitors to the region in question. As puke, in its many forms, lines the streets, so too shall it encumber your neurons. Colin Hanks has no presence, charisma, or talent. He's worse than his father at his very worst, which is saying a lot. Colin is more comparable to Ben Stiller, though he doesn't precipitate extreme revulsion as naturally, and obviously lacks the faculties to learn how. They would have been better off just tying Hanks to a bonfire in a potato sack and having the rest of the cast dance around in intimation of The Dance of Idiocy. Actually, that might have been pretty good, some decent people show their faces, and I'm almost kind enough not to name names. Chevy Chase and Lily Tomlin are borderline amusing during their brief appearances as either burned out, learning disabled, or genetically modified administrators. They might have done quite a bit, dancing around the bonfire. John Lithgow is very dull, which is what the script calls for, and that may not be easy for him. Jack Black gives the film its few moments of anything resembling charm or class as a drug-addled doofus (how can they expect anyone in Orange County not to be on drugs?), and Schuyler Fisk smiles noticeably at Hanks, which can't have been easy either. I mean, you have to either hold your head in dismay or laugh outright. The aesthetic values are so universally horrid that no more than Stiller himself shows up, and he's not even noticeable. This is the sort of putrid thing that you might watch if you want to cure yourself from any interest in cinema.
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