The Next Best Thing (2000)

Look up "droll" in the dictionary and from this day forward it will say "See John Schlesinger's 'The Next Best Thing.'" Yes, this film and it's horrid script even out-wits Noel Coward. It's like Noel Coward in tunnelvision. It's some of the most smarmy and distasteful junk posing as wit and urbanity that I have had to bare witness to in a long time. It's really horrid.

And yet this piece of absolute shit has a concluding 40 minutes that finally becomes a film and actually begins to be about something. It also makes you care and cry. Too bad you have to sit through 70+ minutes of crap to get there. It's a waste.

Rupert Everett prostitutes himself in this film like so much Eurotrash street trade. It's revolting. His scenes with Madonna in the first half of the film are so damn awful they are almost laughable. Madonna is horrible here. She sucks. And not in a good way. Watching her and Everett trying to make something out of this horrible written and wrongfully directed film is agony. Finally, in the film's long, drawn- out climax, Everett gets some stuff to sink his teeth into. And we care. But not because we care about the character he plays. No, it's because it's Rupert Everett, America's most notable, "out," gay male actor up there on the silver screen. That's why we care. And because the film turns into a courtroom drama about one of the most important issues facing homosexuals in this modern day and age: Child custody.

Everett doesn't play off Julia Roberts here but rather her steady Eddie, Benjamin Bratt. The former TV star is actually good here. He's not called upon to be witty or amusing or interesting or outlandish. Why? Because he's heterosexual male man. We all know they can't embody any of the above characteristics. Madonna shares screen time with Bratt and makes him look bad. Everett shares screen time with him and the film crackles with electricity.

The whole film, thanks to Mr. Schlesinger's ghastly direction, is about as unpalatable as beef tips in chocolate pudding. There is a scene early in the film where Everett goes into a recording studio to play a "mean" joke on one of Madonna's ex-boyfriends. Everett is dressed up in the most ridiculous housefrau attire imaginable. He is playing a joke on a straight white man who is producing a rap record. The black musicians all make fun of the producer because his "bitch" has come in demanding his keys back. Now here's the kicker - someone throws something and it lands on - are you ready - a plate of FRIED CHICKEN. That's the kind of film you get here. It's repugnant.

The film is filled with the most godawful gay stereotypes imaginable. Even Everett can't escape them. His character is a "manly" landscape architect (nope - he can't pull it off) but where does he spend most of his time? In the greenhouse with a bunch of flowers, of course. His friends are either the same tired old bitchy queens or the tired new bitchy queens. An early scene where Everett and Madonna attend a funeral for a dead gay friend while his disregarded lover (Neil Patrick Harris of TV's "Doogie Howser") is brushed to the sidelines is particularly bad. Harris thinks that to play it gay you should effect an ever so slight lisp. That's his idea of acting here. Worse yet, Madonna, Everett and all their gay friends break into an acappella version of "American Pie" during the funeral because that's what their dead friend would want. Even worse, although it is never spoken, it is assumed that the man died of AIDS. If we were ever unsure of this, Harris is shown later taking medication. Cause that's what the peripheral gay characters are here: Old tired queens or AIDS victims. It's puerile, standard garbage.

I don't know who wrote this garbage and I refuse to even look it up. It doesn't matter. It's crap. Whoever it is should quit. Now. Take your pens and pencils and legal pads and typewriter and computer word processor and throw it in the river. Better yet: Donate to charity. At least something worthwhile will come out of it that way.

Madonna's newest songs (can you say "hit soundtrack") run rampant throughout the film as if she were a different person in reality, as if we could ever forget that this is Madonna up there making an ass of herself. Her version of "American Pie" closes the film over the end credits. The video for this track is a ridiculous and horrid little clip that makes a mockery out of the sanctity of the song. Doesn't Miss Thing know that this song is a FUCKING INSTITUTION? Remember when Roseanne laid waste to the "Star Spangled Banner" at a baseball game a few years back. Remember how people hated her for it. That's how I feel about Madonna's video of this classic anthem. In the video, the diva for our age wags her ass, shows her buttcrack, feels herself up and acts like a slut while she sings what is essentially the "Star Spangled Banner" of the late 20th century. Do not fuck with the classics Miss Thing. You'll get your dick knocked in the dirt every time. It's an embarrassment and sacrilege. She should be slapped silly for this video. And this film.

Because this film is a mockery too. It's more stereotypical gay Hollywood mumbo-jumbo masquerading as a "feel good" movie that we can all (i.e. gay people) "stand up and cheer for." Well, I ain't cheering. But I will stand up and walk my ass straight out the door of this piece of crud. I advise you to do the same. Anyone who gives Mr. Schlesinger or Miss Madonna Dew Melon the opportunity to make a film ever again should be arrested for causing a public health hazard.

Report Card

Script: F

Acting: F

Cinematography\Lighting: F

Special Effects\Make Up: F

Music: C-

Final Grade: F