PHOTO BY PHOTO BY DIYAH PERA; COURTESY OF TWENTIETH CENTURY FOX-FILM CORP.
TOOTH FAIRY
Where is it playing?: Santa Maria 10
What's it rated?: PG
What's it worth?: $2.00
There’s nothing really to say about a movie like Tooth Fairy but, then again, it’s not the sort of film that is meant to be discussed or taken seriously. This is to say that no one, from affable lead-man Dwayne Johnson to the production team to the half-dozen scribes responsible for the script, can be bothered to summon a single iota of respect for their audience or their craft, neither do they seem to have any confidence in the material past its fiscal prospects. It will skate into theaters, make a bundle, double or triple said bundle on Blu-Ray, recoup expenses, and be forgotten in time for the next indistinguishable, condescending children’s movie’s bow.
Johnson is Derek “Tooth Fairy” Thompson, a minor-league hockey bruiser with a penchant for telling kids their dreams are hooey and that the titular pixie does not exist. The film introduces its star as he sends a fellow player’s CGI-rendered medial incisor flying heavenward. Following several incidents of Scrooge-like meddling—including an attempt to expose his girlfriend’s daughter to the “truth”—Derek is sentenced to two weeks as a tooth fairy. Billy Crystal, in a brief, unsalvageable cameo, gives him the tricks of the trade, and Derek, after many a pratfall, learns that he must change his ways and learns the importance of imagination.
In reality, the film is the deeply unfunny tale of one hockey player finding the courage to make one miraculous goal in his minor-league career and therefore gain the respect of his fellow players, his girlfriend’s kids, and a nebula of winged do-gooders. Packed densely with product placement and played without even a hint of such highfalutin’ concepts as wit and originality, Tooth Fairy does find time to feed the movie-going public’s insatiable appetite for watching brawny, self-serious men wear pink tutus, make animal noises, and use shiny objects.
Michael Lembeck could be called “director” in that he has the mental capacity to point at what he wants to be on screen and has amassed the lexicological range to utter the word “Cut!” Past that, the term is being stretched. If you feel I am being unfair to what is, after all, a movie made for kids, save pity for such seasoned pros as Julie Andrews, Ashley Judd, and, in another cameo, Family Guy brainchild Seth McFarlane. And there is a special place in hell reserved for those who waste the comedic bombast of Stephen Merchant, the co-creator of BBC’s The Office, who plays Derek’s geeky fairy-caseworker.
One might say, after a year that saw “children’s films” become further validated as an art form, that we have been spoiled. Is it fair to expect every kids’ flick to rival masterpieces like Fantastic Mr. Fox and Coraline or even be as preposterously enjoyable as Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs? Maybe not, but that’s not the reason Tooth Fairy deserves such harsh resentment. Lembeck’s film exudes the smugness of a decade’s worth of lazy, shallow, and borderline-incompetent filmmaking that treats children, who have made any one of Pixar’s magnificent features an immense hit, as if they are nothing but turnkeys for their parents’ wallets. For that, both the practitioners and the product deserve to be shamed. (101 min.)
