CLOCKSTOPPERS (2002) 1/2* This is the real revenge of the nerds. Psychologically constipated morons who were never cool and never had an original idea in their lives now come on as film-making gurus who are down widda yoof. So, they plumb their artificially limited, parentally-approved, frame of reference and give us this kid with all this alleged talent and material stuff, what they surely consider a mysterious foreign girl, and ludicrously desperado wanna-be music (the anti-Cobains), and still can't figure out how to present an interesting date. They're never, never, going to figure out that the trick isn't portraying that smart is fun, but that the foundation must be fun is smart. Never mind, they have a laughably inadequate command of even the bubblegum conception of Einstein's theory that they present, so feeble that even my children pointed out their erroneous extrapolation of the inherently over-simplistic premise. French Stewart's character on "Third Rock From the Sun" is one of the funniest in recent memory, but he can never figure out what to do in this milieu. To his credit, I think. The moral of the film-not surpisingly-is that if you have a dorky dad who never pays attention to you, you should admire him because he's doing important work for a culture gone out of control towards nowhere. It's no doubt forever to be in heavy rotation on the family VCRs of the producers, but I promise that there's not enough to the totality of genetic theory to fool any kid with a brain in their head, with this shit. At least it clears up the age-old question of how nerds reproduce: in hypertime, get it!?? Ha, ha!, it seems like less than milliseconds to everyone else...
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