Here is Robogeek's review of BASEketball. And remember, he isn't a little bitch, he's Robogeek, the almighty and powerful. By definition all things mechanical and shiny can't be called a little bitch. They are too cool for that. So instead I'll call him Johnny Five today. :)

ROBOGEEK REVIEWS BASEKETBALL, PONDERS THE UNIVERSE, ETC.

So there I was, late Tuesday afternoon, just minding my own business, eating a bowl of Rice Krispies Treats cereal and watching CNN Showbiz Today, when the phone rings. I peek at the Caller ID box, roll my eyes, and answer.

"HAGEN!" I scream into the receiver, as I usually do when His Vastness calls to harrass me. A brief conversation ensued something like this:

"Hey, whatcha doin' tonight?" Harry asks in a frenzied tone.

"Well, I was planning on seeing the "Thin Man" double bill at the Paramount..."

"Aw, you've seen those a kazillion times. Wanna see BASEketball?"

I ponder this question for a few nanoseconds. "Not really."

"Come on! Hey, it's been too long since you've written a bad review!"

"Well..." He has a point. I recall being incredibly annoyed by Jenny McCarthy the night before on Letterman, as she kept pushing her hair out of eyes over and over and over and over... Writing a BASEketball review would give me a chance to bring that up in front of hundreds of thousands of readers...

"But Harry, I'd rather hang out with Nick and Nora."

"But you can see them tomorrow! Hey, remember how you resisted "There's Something About Mary," and ended up loving it? Just think -- you might actually enjoy this movie, too!"

Granted, I was alternately laughing _out_loud_ (something I very rarely do in a film) and wincing in horror during "Something About Mary," as my inner Mulder and Scully wrestled over whether I loved or loathed that film. By the time Mulder won the arguement several days later, it was too late for me to write up my reivew for the site. Suffice it to say, however, I regard the film as the funniest of the year thus far, hands down.

But BASEketball? I mean, come on! The trailers aren't even funny, and you know they always put the funniest parts of comedies in the trailers.

At any rate, after a bit more back-and-forth, I strike a deal with Harry, basically negotiating temporary access to something cool in his possession in exchange for suffering through BASEketball with him. Once this is settled, I commit to attend -- knowing I'll probably regret it.

About an hour and a half later, I arrive at the Highland 10 theater, which I hadn't been to in months. Ever since the Gateway opened here in Austin, with stadium seating and Digital THX in all 16 screens, well, I've just been too spoiled to go anywhere else, except for the indie theaters like the Alamo Drafthouse, Dobie and Paramount. I see Quint in line and make my way up the line to Harry and Father Geek. There I interrupt a discussion they're having with a line person who I will not identify, as she expounds with glee that "Saving Private Ryan" elicited laughter from her not once, but THREE TIMES. Obviously, this person is a sociopath. I wil not be sitting next to her.

So we change the subject, as we observe the incompetent teenage management of the establishment try and manage the growing crowds for not one, not two, but apparently three sneak previews occurring at the same time. I just shake my head. Then Harry and I actually try and remember if we've seen one single funny thing in any of the BASEketball trailers or TV spots. We come up dry.

Finally, we enter the theater. Since it has long since occurred to me that the only reason Harry invited me was to provide him with entertainment since he will surely receive none from the film, I sit by Quint instead and talk for awhile. After repeated beckonings, however, I finally give in and go sit in proximity to Harry, as we discuss business and ponder the impact of the site's redesign, which has quietly been in the works for many, many moons, by the way.

And then I make one of those statements that I know will come back to haunt me. As soon as it escapes my lips, I know I shouldn't have said it. I know that I have just cursed myself. Harry knows this too, and he starts quivering with maniacal laughter, like a spazzing Jabba. It's really quite disconcerting. Anyway, I say...

"All I want out of this screening is at least one decent new trailer. Just one."

Out of sheer boredom, about fifteen minutes until curtain, I excuse myself to get a drink. Something stiff, like a sarsparilla. En route to the mobbed concession area, I am blindsided by a beverage terrorist, who assaults me with a large Diet Coke. I am drenched. I could be sitting in the Paramount right now watching "Another Thin Man," but no...

After swiftly eviscerating the offender, I charge fuming to the bathroom, in a vain attempt to minimize the damage. I am soaked, as Zorak stares back at me in the mirror from one of my many Space Ghost T-shirts, his pissed off visage eerily reflecting my own, if somewhat clouded in Diet Coke stains. After going through a pile of paper towels and searching for one of those jet dryers to no avail, I resign myself to return to the theater, my condition only slightly downgraded to "soggy."

Of course, by this time, there's no chance of me getting through the concession line to get a drink, and I'd rather not have people stare at me anyway, so I just go back to my seat. Harry brilliantly deduces something is amiss, since I don't have a drink, so I recant the incident to him -- which he promptly shares with the rest of the row, vibrating with glee.

Finally, the theater goes dark, so slowly it's almost imperceptible at first, and we get a trailer. It's a new one, and for a split second I have hope. A split second later, it is replaced with dread. Harry senses this, and starts laughing. Again.

It's a trailer for the goddamn "Psycho" remake.

I want to yell in fury at the screen, but thankfully others in the theater do it for me. Some guy behind me screams "rent it!" over and over, like a mad mantra. Other caustic, expletive-ridden utterances issue forth from the disgusted audience, in a glorious cacophony of bitter resentment rendered in real-life THX. I swear I heard someone holler "Death to Brian Grazer!" Ouch.

Once the pain of the trailer subsides, we bear witness to a pretentious title sequence and the movie begins with a not entirely unclever prologue, which actually piqued my interest in the film. But very quickly, that interest waned, replaced by utter, unmitigated boredom, and my mind wandered...

"Damn," I randomly thought, "wouldn't Terence Stamp make the _perfect_ Magneto in Singer's "X-Men" movie? I've got to remember to mention that in my review..."

I actually could have had plenty more constructive moments of reverie like that one, if it weren't for the fact that the "rent it!" guy's date had this unbelievably disturbing, breathy laugh that resounded from behind my head in no apparent relation to anything funny on screen. If I'd had a spare pair of socks handy, I would have turned around and stuffed them in her mouth.

Anyway, back to the film. I have to admit, I didn't hate the movie. In fact, I found it mildly amusing, and moderately entertaining. But listen to me -- Joe Hallenbeck is on CRACK! This is nowhere near the funniest movie of the year, or the decade, or whatever he called it. (I'd double-check his exact words, but the damned redesigned site is as slow as molasses, and the search engine is screwed up so that it won't let me read past the first page of results!) BASEketball doesn't even come _close_ to the hysterical hilarity of "There's Something About Mary." They're just not in the same league. BASEketball isn't a bad movie, necessarily, but it isn't really a good movie, either.

But what do I know? Well, that's a fair question. If you recall, I hated "Cannibal: The Musical" (try and dig up that review, it's worth it), and am not a big fan of "South Park." If I happen to be home when it's on, if there's nothing else on I'd rather see, and if I'm really bored, I'll watch it. Needless to say, I haven't seen it in months.

Granted, I have to admit that Parker and Stone do possess some small glimmer of on-screen charisma, but they both really need a haircut. And while the underlying social commentary the film wages at the current state of the sports industry is incisive, it is hopelessly diluted by weak execution. Give me any random episode of HBO's outstanding "Arli$$" instead of this exercise in mediocrity any day. Not only is that show smart and funny, but everyone has great hair.

For me, the one bright spot in the film is Ernest Borgnine. I'm a big Borgnine fan, and any chance to see him on screen is a kick. Robert Vaughn is, well, a caricature of Robert Vaughn. Jenny McCarthy is just... well, Jenny McCarthy with too much make-up. Similarly, Yasmeen Bleeth is little more than window dressing. When she appears on screen for the first time, I swear I heard someone whisper "where's the beach?" What else... Okay, the Kareem cameo was a little funny.

I do have to go on record that my inner feminist was offended by the blatant sexism of the film, which I might have forgiven had it been funny. Though I must admit my inner Mulder found the cheerleaders a somewhat inspired diversion. Actually, I probably shouldn't admit that...

Maybe I'm just spoiled, what with a summer full of solid entertainment like "The Truman Show," "The X-Files," "Armageddon," "There's Something About Mary," "The Mask of Zorro," and "Saving Private Ryan." All in all, this has been a really good summer at the movies, relative to recent summers past.

But as I was watching BASEketball, I couldn't help but wonder why (or rather when) great undiscovered talent like our local comedy troupes "Only 90% Effective" (who recently staged the inspired dada-esque "Hooray for Gregory Peck's Ass!") and "Monks' Night Out" (who organize Austin's annual Big Stinkin' International Comedy Festival) haven't been snatched up to make films or sitcoms or something, when something as uninspired as "BASEketball" gets the studio treatment. If I were an agent or exec looking for fresh comedy talent, I'd look no further than these two companies.

'Nuff said.

- Robogeek!