Last night, at the behest of my chief research assistants, Helmut and Manfred, I attended the cinema.
It all started after lunch, during the early afternoon cigarette break.
“Herr Professor Doktor von Korncrake,” said Manfred, as he and Helmut stood at the door to my office, their attitudes properly deferrential, “you should perhaps go see this funny movie, with Will Ferrell and Jon Heder, the two Americans who pretend to be the warme Brüder figure skaters”
“Manfred,” I replied, “why should I do this? You know I only like the serious cinema.” They both looked downcast.
“But Herr Professor Doktor,” squeaked Helmut, “we saw it last night and it was very funny, and my sister in Vienna knowns Uwe Kagelmann, and she says that he says it is wunderbar.”
“Very well, Helmut, if Bronze Medalist Uwe Kagelmann recommends this movie I will see it. But,” and here I lowered my voice to project myself properly, “If I do not like it, you shall hear about it.”
Well, there’s nothing like putting a good fright into the research assistants to make me cheery and ready for a laugh, and so it was with a light heart that I went down to the KinoPlex 12 to see this film.
As I settled into my seat at the theater, a stein of beer in one hand, a bag of Heidi Klum’s Yogurt Dessert Cremes in the other, I was warm with anticipation, for you see, dear readers, I am an afficiando of the American comic cinema. From Herold Lloyd to Jerry Lewis to Adam Sandler, I have consistently found pleasure in the low films of these high artists.
And I am glad to report that I was not disapointed with Blades of Glory.
The movie is uproariously funny, and not just by the usually dismal German comedic standards, in which hitting someone with a limp sausage phallus is the punch line to most jokes (although such a scene would not have been out of place in this movie).
Blades of Glory is ludicrous, overblown, broad to the point of caricature, pitched to the lowest common denominator, and stupid in that special way that only a Hollywood blockbuster can be stupid, and yet it is a true delight.
I laughed more times than I could count, and would gladly see the movie again, if only to spend ten more minutes with renegade outlaw figure skater Chaz Michael Michaels.
Yes, it dragged a little in the middle part, and the sex addiction sub-plot made me wince, but taken all together it was a joyous 93 minutes of idiotic ribaldry.
This morning, I rewarded Helmut and Manfred with one of the highest compliments one give one’s research assistants, a carefully worded litotes of praise.
“Guten Morgen Herr Professor Doktor,” Helmet croaked as I came through the door, his trepidation clearly displayed on his face, “und how was the movie?”
“In all, it was not unpleasant.”
Helmut and Manfred fairly leapt.