Shut The Smurf Up

That's it. It's official. I want to spray for Smurfs.

I mean it. The only reason this piece of odiferous pablum is at the top of the box office is because of, I do believe, the ungodly summer heat. Parents would take the kiddies to see Caligula at this point if it was animated and the theater was air conditioned. Admit it.

It's not like we parents have had a lot to choose from the craptacular selection of children's cinema this summer. We've had Jim Carrey (UGH. For another rant) and his penguins. We've had Larry the Cable Guy (UGH UGH UGH) and a bunch of explosions. We've had a remake of Pooh, evidently because there WILL NEVER BE ANOTHER ORIGINAL IDEA IN HOLLYWOOD AGAIN.

And now, the Smurf movie. I've got low, low tolerance for cutesy, and I've hated the Smurfs ever since I was a teenager and had a four year old brother who would wake me from my hangovers playing his favorite Smurf record at top volume. If you've forgotten the theme, it was this clever:

LA LA LA LA LA LA!! LA LA LA LA LA!!

Good times.

It was all very suspicious, anyway. Especially that Smurfette. All that long blonde hair, pumps (even in the woods, the girl wears heels), hip kicked out....and the only chick with all those guys out in the forest. What the hell? Was she Poppa Smurf's old lady or something?

Add in the use of "smurf" as a verb and sometimes even as an adjective, and all of the sudden I'm wanting to cut somebody.


So, as much as I like Neil Patrick Harris and Katy Perry (et tu, Hank Azaria??), there is nothing that could make this film palatable. Unless I decide to go for that lobotomy, which frankly I am beginning to believe might make this god-awful summer heat better. And I'm not sure even partially removing my frontal lobe would make the Smurf movie not like Chinese water torture.

So put that in your Smurf and smurf it.