Who among us has not been captivated by the sweet Chuck Jones animated masterpiece? Along with A Charlie Brown Christmas, the Grinch has become, for Americans at least, part of the television Yuletide canon. (For some it has taken on almost religious significance.)
But don’t expect to find any of the cartoon’s delight nor any of the book’s whimsy here. The rollicking rhythm of Seuss — its joy, light, playfulness and redemption — have been completely sapped from this rendition. The film should have been called “Bram Stoker’s Grinch.” One would not expect such darkness from director Ron Howard (Splash, Cocoon). If he weren’t out hawking the film on talk show after vacuous talk show, one would swear Tim Burton had directed the thing. Even the narration is gloomy. Anthony Hopkins (the narrator) sounds as if he is reading “The Raven.”
Even the Whos of Whoville have an eerie quality. Far from the Cupie Doll look of the Seuss illustrations, these Whos look like munchkins crossbred with the inhabitants of the Planet of the Apes. The Whos are so bizarre and inhuman, the audience is praying that the Grinch will obliterate the little weirdoes.
Reminiscent of a Halloween window at Macy’s Herald Square, the set is utterly unbelievable. Cotton, colored lights, and cardboard predominate. The only thing missing is the mannequin (if you discount Carrey).
Even little Cindy Lou Who is weird. With her whacked-out hair-do and buck teeth, it’s no wonder the Grinch torments her.
The biggest problem with the film is the Grinch himself. As the pundits would say, there’s simply no “there” there. Instead of a compelling character, there’s just Jim Carrey strutting about in a disastrous costume that completely overpowers his off-key performance. With long furry fingers, a potbelly and a button nose, Carrey could easily be mistaken for a very sick, mutant puppy. His camp, clenched, growling voice obscures half the dialogue (no great loss given that most of it is poorly improvised by Carrey anyway). Case in point: when the Grinch’s turbo-powered sleigh demonstrates a bit more zest than he’d expected and Carrey screams, “We’re going to die, we’re going to die, I’m going to throw up — and then I’m going to dieeeee!” It must have been wildly funny in the studio.
Since Carrey is himself a cartoon, him playing a cartoon is both redundant and repetitive. He is one of the few actors capable of going so broad that he renders even the best-drawn characters cardboard. He is an impressionist and a clown, but, alas, not an actor. To move the audience, the Grinch required a comic actor capable of some pathos. Mr. Carrey plainly did not fit the bill. Essentially, this is a recreation of his performance as the Riddler in one of those tiresome Batman movies: all bluster and costume, but ultimately no heart.
The comedy is so premeditated it ceases to be funny. Like an overblown Looney Tunes cartoon, musical underscoring punches up every laugh, and to be sure, they are few and far between. Even the children at the preview I attended weren’t buying it. When the Grinch falls into the bosom of a Who, a couple of parents headed for the door.
Not slapstick, not heavy orchestration, not special effects, not green suits, not even Jim Carrey can breath life into this deadly Grinch retelling. It’s dreary predictability and obnoxious style is a profanation of the Seuss legacy and an insult to those who love the original tale.
Though it’s gaudy and garish, gross and unfunny,
And features Jim Carrey with a big bloated tummy,
I’ll make a prediction: Before Turkey day,
This Grinch sure will snatch up some poor sucker's pay.
So heed this fair warning. Don’t give “Grinch” a look.
Be a wise parent, and go buy the book!!!!
