By Alan Scherstuhl
By Amy Nicholson
By Charles Taylor
By Stephanie Zacharek
By Brian Feinzimer
By CAROLINA DEL BUSTO
By AMY NICHOLSON
By Amy Nicholson
To: Kevin Smith
From: Scott Foundas
Re: Clerks II
Tiffs between critics and the subjects of their criticism are nothing new: 30-odd years ago, the actress Sylvia Miles dumped a plate of spaghetti on the head of then-New York magazine theater critic John Simon after enduring one of his famously harsh and personal missives. And just last year, in these very pages, Sally Potter had it out with me over my review of her Yes. But to the best of my knowledge, in the decade I've been writing about movies for various publications in this city, I'd never done anything to engender your ire. So imagine my surprise when I took my seat at a press screening of Clerks II last Monday morning, only to be tapped on the shoulder by a publicist and kindly, albeit firmly, asked to leave.
In truth, this teacup tempest had begun to brew the week before, when a different publicist (one I've known for years) phoned to coerce/threaten me into assigning someone other than myself to review the film.
"Kevin reads everything that's written about him," she told me, before going on to explain that apparently certain things I'd written in the past had led you to feel I had some kind of personal bias against your work. I was perplexed: True, movies are like their directors' children, and when I reviewed your last film, the nauseatingly saccharine Jersey Girl(2004), I went so far as to say, "The blame for this cosmically self-indulgent disaster lies with Kevin Smith, who directs like a proud father who can't stop showing you pictures of his kids. And here's the thing: The brats are ugly."
Still, I was hardly that film's harshest detractor and, what's more, I'm on record as having been a fan of yours in the past. Reviewing Chasing Amy(1997), I praised the film's hilariously uncensored sexual dialogue and unexpected pathos. And you and I even did a long interview at the time, in which we came to the conclusion that I harbored greater affection for your much-maligned Mallrats(1995) than you did yourself. Having made these various points to said publicist in an e-mail, and having received no reply, I assumed that the dust had settled between us. Until, that is, I showed up at Monday's screening.
Well, you pretty much know the rest of the story. After some further reflection on your part, and a few diplomatic words of intervention by our mutual friend "Fiji" John Pierson, we kissed and made up—in a strictly heterosexual way, of course—and, by Tuesday morning, I was finally sitting down to watch Clerks II. But perhaps you've guessed, Kevin, that I still entered that screening room with considerable trepidation, not for fear of ejection (this time, I was the only one there), but because it's true that I haven't cared for your last couple of pictures, and I wondered if a sequel to the no-budget gem that first put you on the map would mark a return to form or merely prove that you really can't go home again.
* * *
Of course, Kevin, if there's one thing your films have taught us, it's that while you may be able to take the Jersey boy out of Jersey, you can never take Jersey . . . well, you get the idea. Though you packed your bags for L.A. years ago, I suspect your heart will always belong to Red Bank, and maybe that's why Clerks II slips on as comfortably as a well-worn shoe. It is, I think, the best thing you've done in years—the funniest and the most genuine. I say this with the hope that I'm not overstating the case, since it is, at the end of the day, a movie about a couple of guys watching life go by from behind a cash register. As you yourself noted of the original Clerks(1994): "It's certainly not Shakespeare."
Still, this movie put a broad smile on my face, virtually from the start: a montage sequence set to the Talking Heads' calypso-flavored "(Nothing but) Flowers," in which you catch us up on everything that's happened in the 12 years since we last hung out with those two knights in plaid-and-denim armor: Dante Hicks (Brian O'Halloran) and Randal Graves (Jeff Anderson). You begin things on a tragic note: The Quick Stop and RST Video have been gutted by fire, prompting our heroes—after a brief moment of panic on Randal's part ("Now where am I going to bring chicks to fuck when my mom's home?")—to seek out new employment at Mooby's, the fictional fast-food restaurant you introduced in Dogma(1999) and later revisited in Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back(2001).
But the more things change, you seem to be saying, the more they stay the same: Jay (Jason Mewes) and Silent Bob (you) still have their backs against the wall. Dante and Randal continue to stare across the counter at a barrage of imbecilic customers and old high school jerk-offs (one of them memorably named Picklefucker). Dante again finds himself torn between the affections of two unreasonably sexy women: the pert Mooby's manager, Becky (the ineluctably charming Roasrio Dawson), and the WASP-y princess Emma, who happens to be Dante's fiancťe. Strapping and blond and perfectly proportioned, Emma is exactly the kind of girl who wouldn't have given a guy like Dante the time of day back in high school, but who's now been around the block enough times to know that nice guys are, well, nicer than pretty boys. And Kevin, if I'm not being too presumptuous, I would suggest it's hardly accidental that you've cast your own wife, Jennifer Schwalbach, in the role. You lucky dog.
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