Dude, Where's My Car?

Since the ‘80s a fine tradition of teen films has emerged, with movies from the likes of John Hughes and Cameron Crowe chronicling those often rather difficult years sublimely, and flicks the likes of the supremely brilliant Better Off Dead, Fast Times at Ridgemont High and even Porky’s aiming squarely for the more silly and funny side of things – and hitting it. Dude, Where’s My Car?, however, is another kettle of fetid fish entirely...

It’s the morning after what must have been one hell of a night for mega-doofus missing links Jesse (That ‘70s Show’s Ashton Kutcher) and Chester (Seann William Scott from the American Pie flicks). They’re so wasted that they can’t remember a thing about their nocturnal activities, although a message from their twin girlfriends Wilma and Wanda informing them of how they trashed their house and that they are sucky boyfriends, gives a bit of a hint at what they must have got up to. After being reminded that it is their one year anniversary, light bulbs eventually flicker vaguely above the heads of the two doofuses (or should that be doofii?) that they should try to make amends – after all, the girls have promised “special treats�, and you can imagine what these two, who make Beavis & Butthead look like Einstein & Oppenheimer, think they have waiting for them. And so, after a round or three of thumb wars, an attempt at recreating their steps from the night before begins...

Step one, find the car... ah, but we all know there’s a problem there, don’t we?

And then? Avoid their rampaging boss, as they’ve been embezzling pizzas...

And then? Pop by and visit a friend who thinks he’s some sort of Yoda and get stoned with his dog...

And then? Attack a fast food drive-through speaker box doobrie...

And then? Have a run in with the ever-so-delightfully named Christie Boner (Kristy Swanson – honey, couldn’t you disappear gracefully?) and her meathead jock boyfriends...

And then? Drop by a strip club, to discover they’ve ripped off a rather pissed off transsexual dancer who in turn has ripped off her employer...

And then? Swing by their girlfriends’ house and help clean up, managing just to make a complete mess of things again...

And then? Get kidnapped by bubble-wrap clad space nerds whose names all start with ‘Z’ (well, expect for Jeff), who are in search of something called a ‘Continuum Transfunctioner’...

And then? Be accosted by tightly clad space babe “hot chicks� who are after the same gizmo thingy the nerds covet...

And then? Get assailed by two “totally gay Nordic dudes�, who for some reason also believe that Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber can somehow help to locate this Transfunctioner thingy...

And then? Get arrested...

And then? Get released, to find their car has been impounded...

And then? Track the vehicle of the film’s title to an ostrich farm...

And then? Get locked up by a French stereotype who seems to be quite the Monty Python fan...

And then? Oh, stuff it. Just imagine all manner of additional sexist, homophobic, racist and any otherwise crass, obscene, puerile or offensive material and you surely won’t be far off the money - then add some twaddle about saving the universe from exploding. And what’s with this word “shibby� that they keep dropping throughout? It is kind of unique in that it seems to serve as a noun, a verb, an adjective AND an adverb. Oh well, it’s versatile I guess.

Dude, where's the comedy?

Isn’t it typical? Puke up a piece of garbage like this onto a DVD and it’s a sure bet that it will look stunning, at least technically. Dude, Where’s My 80 Minutes of Life I Wasted on This Drivel? is certainly no exception to this bizarre subsection of Murphy’s law. Basically the print used was pristine, exhibiting nothing in the way of speckles or other marks whatsoever. Everything is pretty much spot on, with the full-on colours coming up (I’ll resist that set-up) brilliantly, perfect blacks and fabulous detail throughout. Really the only downside is a couple of very minor examples of aliasing, and one of those ham-fisted layer changes which looks fine where it has been plonked mid-scene, but makes a horrendous dint in the sound.

The solitary Dolby Digital 5.1 soundtrack on offer does a great job with what it is given. Whilst there are some fabulously surround-y whooshes in the opening credits, the rears are just used somewhat more subtly throughout the rest of the film (“subtlety� is NOT a word I expected to use in this review), as basically relaying the inane babblings of two losers with the combined IQ of bellybutton fluff isn’t exactly a sonic challenge. The subwoofwoof is used sparingly, and every single pathetic line that dribbles forth from anybody on screen’s mouth is perfectly synched.

The soundtrack credit goes to David Kitay, who may have managed to get about two minutes’ worth of score to screen sandwiched between the innumerable songs inserted to sell soundtrack CDs. These latter ones come from an often diverse collection of musicians including everybody from the likes of sterling Britpop geezers Blur to Hot Chocolate, Young MC, Harvey Danger, Ween and even Ladysmith Black Mambazo. Oh, and flavours of the minute Sum 41 are on there somewhere, too.

Some rather amateurish (it’s fitting, I suppose) menus are all that adorn this feature, with a brief animated kaleidoscopic effect leading to static screens that look about as professional as if they got the cleaner to whip them up in his smoko break. Making a reluctant sortie into the “shibby features� section reveals a number of additional bits and pieces to contend with...

Audio commentary – director Danny Leiner plus “actors� Ashton Kutcher and Seann William Scott: Ah, finally a chance to get proof that Ashton and Seann aren’t actually two mindless chimps with absolutely no redeeming or vaguely human features like they portray in the film, right? Sadly not – in fact if anything they are even more disgusting and puerile in “real life�. This very scratchy commentary track has them shouting, talking over each other and carrying on from go to woe like sad Beastie Boys wannabes about all manner of drivel that bears little relation to the film – other than pauses to make crass and frankly offensive comments at most any opportunity possible, with the director battling to get the occasional word in edgeways. Believe me, swimming around the world with your arms tied to your feet would be less of a challenge than sitting through this.

Featurette: Just under four and a half minutes of full-frame inanity, featuring the usual grabs from the film and interview snippets with some of the cast. Adding to the sheer unadulterated classiness is a section entitled ‘DudeCam’, whereby Kutcher runs around invading the privacy of others who made the unfortunate career move of signing on for this piece of flaccid dreck by shoving a Handicam in their faces.

Extended Scenes: Oh goody, just over nine extra minutes! Oh, but actually there’s probably only about a minute of stuff not in the film, most of which bears the offensive hallmarks of the version which eventually made it to cinemas. One scene features Queen’s We Are the Champions, which luckily for Freddie’s memory didn’t make it into the final cut.

Music video - Stupid Ass by Grand Theft Audio: Bog standard quiet-loud shouty fodder, the type of thing the likes of Pop Will Eat Itself, Ned’s Atomic Dustbin and Jesus Jones did infinitely better more than a decade ago. For anybody still interested, it’s standard song-from-a-flick fare, with film clips interspersed with the band jumping about like fleas and the obligatory slow-motion bits.

Theatrical trailer: Hmm, it’s supposedly the theatrical trailer, yet it’s full frame? Something smells more than the film itself... It’s 2:22 in length, has Dolby Digital stereo sound (as do all the extras mentioned above) and should have been enough to keep people away from the cinema in droves...

TV Spots: Three 34 second spots, more understandably in full frame, and all, well, TV ad-like...

There are no words to express the extent to which this movie well and truly sucks, or to elaborate further on how extremely unfunny and simply downright crass it in fact is – suffice to say watching a beloved pet die an agonising death would be likely to offer up more chuckles. Weekend at Bernie’s is Lawrence of Arabia compared to this piece of absolute excrement.

Mind you, comedy is a subjective thing of course, so if your idea of funny is stuff like dogs smoking drug pipes, blind children groping women, simulated oral sex, racist stereotypes, transsexual bashing and generally blatant sexist drivel, and you’re not afraid to let the world know about it, then this technically well presented disc is waiting in DVD stores for you right now.

In all Dude, Where’s My Car? is nowhere even remotely near worthy of a low five, so why did it even score one point? Well, there’s a bravura performance from a VW New Beetle that’s parked in a driveway, and mercifully the film actually ends after what must have been the most excruciating 80 minutes of this poor reviewer’s life...