The wranglers of Movieline's Bad Movies We Love (me and me alone) always dredge up dismissible teen comedies from the early 2000s, in case you haven't noticed. What's with them (me)? Wait, I know: Those movies are bad and we (I) love them. Yes! Right! On that note, say hello to Orange County, the breakout vehicle for Movieline pal and Lucky star Colin Hanks, who holds together this funny but aimless romp with the help of Jack Black, a thrilling supporting cast, and a botched Beatles haircut.
Orange County follows a respectable high-schooler (Hanks) as he applies to Stanford to "become a writer," discovers he didn't get in, and finds himself gawking at the braindead O.C. denizens who surround him in his marooned existence. The movie spews comedy gold for the first 20 minutes before slowly taking on an overly earnest tone in the latter half. Thankfully, it's only an 81-minute movie. The funny remains funny without turning into a time-suck! Stick that glowing endorsement above the marquee, Mr. Downtrodden Matinee Proprietor!
As usual, I've distilled our Bad Movie into five lovable components. Onward with the rankings.
5. Jack "Teddy Vedder" Black
You probably forget that you love Jack Black, even if it's that conditional adoration you associate with Las Vegas, Ritz Bitz Peanut Butter Sandwiches, or Madonna. You remember Nacho Libre and Gulliver's Travels, but High Fidelity and Shallow Hal seem like dilapidated, ashen cities of yore. Do wake up. Jack Black is a feisty hybrid of James Hetfield and Rowlf from Muppet Babies, and he transforms Orange County from a simpering satire into a platform for grade-A grossouts. I can think of no other man I'd rather hear deliver the line, "Sean, have you seen my piss? My parole officer wants that piss." As Colin Hanks's obscene, layabout brother, he approaches the formulaic role with truly singular energy. He's a disgusting Teddy Bear. He's hare-brained. He's a Muppet who cuts his own strings at will. He'd tackle Statler and Waldorf before they nailed their punchlines. He should play rhythm guitar for Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem.
4. Unflinching mockery of Orange County
We're quick to thank the Bravo network for pinpointing Orange County shallowness, but Orange County throttled the Huntington Beach demographic long before Andy Cohen seized the peroxide-stained reins. One of Hanks' stoner friends dies surfing a million-foot wave in an early scene, and in a phenomenal classroom sequence that would inspire Amy Heckerling, a literature teacher announces, "Some great movies are based on Shakespeare's plays: Hamlet. West Side Story. The Talented Mr. Ripley. Waterworld. Gladiator. Cho-co-lot." How is mispronouncing Chocolat this funny? I don't know. Of course, the best mockeries come courtesy of some fabulous visitors...
3. Every character actor you've felt a little sorry for
Orange County executes the public service of casting the following champs: Catherine O'Hara as Hanks's mother; John Lithgow as Hanks's estranged father, who clamors, "A writer? You want to be a writer? But you're not oppressed, you're not gay!"; Kevin Kline as Hanks's writer hero; Garry Marshall and Dana Ivey as stuffy folk; Chevy Chase as a shallow principal; Lily Tomlin as a cuckoo adviser. Are you weeping with pride yet? That's Oscar realness, guys! Second City vets and Altman muses in the house! The standout kook is O'Hara, who repeatedly responds to Hanks's ambitions with threats of "going back to bed." She rips dozens of pillows off her king-size monstrosity so she can doze for the third time in an afternoon. Amy Poehler's character in Mean Girls could've used a few more brilliant touches like these.
2. The best Crazy Town evisceration of all time
Thank you, film producers of 2002, for knowing that Crazy Town -- the perpetrators of the odious Billboard hit "Butterfly" -- was one of 1999's chief embarrassments. Even if you were late to skewer Puddle of Mudd, your Crazy Town hatred was commensurate. Early in the film (when most of the good stuff occurred, in case you haven't been paying attention), the cheerleading squad at Hanks's school struts into some languid-ass choreography set to the lyrics, "Come, come, my lady." Teehee-able enough. But later (when most of the bad stuff occurred, see), Orange County makes the genius decision to have ladies at a Stanford mixer enact the same dance, proving once and for all that everyone in California -- whether Northern or Southern -- is pretty dumb. You have to respect that commitment to journalistic truths.
1. Aw, Colin Hanks, y'all
Nice try, Emile Hirsch, but the King of Smarty Senioritis of the 2000-05 epoch is Colin Hanks. As our believably rational, sincere hero, Hanks takes to the screen with the Hanksian flair you've seen in films like The Money Pit and (the appropriately named) Punchline. Yes, those are bad movies, but it doesn't matter, because the Hanksian aww-shucksiness is its own reward.
Look at this kid. He wears a Liverpool skater shag and Circuit City floor manager khakis like an icon. He delivers dialogue with the un-self-conscious finesse that I miss from his canceled series, The Good Guys. He's a lovable everyman, and when he calls Catherine O'Hara "miserable," he encompasses all the familial love and resentment that you surely possess when your brother is Chet Haze. Give it up for the Hanks scion who doesn't use rhymes to establish credibility!