Farce in which Hugh Grant plays an art auctioneer who gets engaged to the daughter of a mob boss. Knee-slapping hijinks ensue as Grant must drop his hoity-toity accent and become mobster Mickey Blue Eyes. Why does he need to impersonate a gangster? I can’t answer that. I nodded off in the theater. My face fell right into my Goobers. Damn, I hate when that happens. You wake up in a dark theater, surrounded by strangers, face covered in Goobers. It’s enough to make a man hate a perfectly good movie.
While I’m good and pissed, let me vent about Hugh Grant a little bit. Am I the only person who thinks he could use a good smack? You know how sometimes when you meet someone for the first time, and for no definable reason, you just want to kick them in the ding-ding? That’s how I feel about Hugh Grant. Maybe it’s the way he stammers and blinks when his character is perplexed or taken aback. Or maybe it’s because I can tell that, even though he’s on camera performing, his mind is really back in his lot trailer where he’s got a black hooker waiting to immerse him in Swedish meatballs, or flog him with a flail made from toad carcasses.
Mickey Blue Eyes is as consequential as gnat poot in a hurricane. At least the 30 minutes of it I saw, anyway.