PAUL BLART: MALL COP: Die Lard. With a vengeance.

PAUL BLART: MALL COP
Starring Kevin James, Jayma Mays, Keir O'Donnell
Directed by Steve Carr
Sony Pictures Home Entertainment
Review by Louis Fowler

Am I the only person who expected more from this? Am I the only person who thought this could have actually worked if it actually had some, I don't know...balls?

It's funny: coming off of the insane rush that was OBSERVE AND REPORT (one of the best movies of 2009, for reals), I really felt like that pretty much wrote the book on mall cop movies. America, on the other hand, disagreed, and while OBSERVE bombed faster than my “white people be shoppin'!” routine at the Apollo, PAUL BLART: MALL COP is one of the biggest movies of the year. Biggest.

What does all this mean? America wants and needs movies about overweight shopping center security guards, as long as they can take the whole family to it. We're a busy, workaholic society, dammit, and I only have time for one mall cop movie! (It's kinda hard to see Kevin James working in a date rape joke anyway...)

PAUL BLART is about Kevin James and how, even under his immense, crippling obesity, he is able to rescue not only his cadre of comedically stereotyped friends from badly-conceived terrorists taking over HIS mall, but also win the paper-thin love of the horrifically anorexic girl of his dreams. Now, as a pleasantly plump fellow myself, I honestly enjoy movies that present the chubby as action heroes of some sort. Even though I have a weight problem (or, as my doctor calls it, weight crisis), I am pretty sure that, if push comes to shove, I could kill five, six terrorists no problem. Yes, I'll be wildly out of breath when I'm done, but I'm sure most fat people probably could be an action hero if they put their enlarged heart into it.

But, instead of making Blart a reliably rotund member of society, like myself, Hollywood once again turns the chunkily-afflicted into clumsy buffoons and, as an extra twist of my greasy nipple, hypoglycemic. Yes, Blart can't go five minutes without eating a pie or else he passes out. Just like all fatties, right Tinseltown?

So, as I'm sitting here watching all this, I can't help but imagine all this country's general audiences hysterically—riotously, even—laughing at Blart splitting his pants while farting and trying to stuff four Snickers simultaneously in his face. Thinking about all those happy viewers, I've gotta ask: is this the new minstrel show?

My double-chin is nodding “Yes, Massa!”

But, even for all this blubbering, on both my part and the film's, PAUL BLART still could have been a very funny movie, the way other non-Sandler Happy Madison flicks like GRANDMA'S BOY, THE BENCHWARMERS, STRANGE WILDERNESS or JOE DIRT were, if instead of going for a safe 'n' harmless PG, they at least went for a dirty 'n' hard PG-13. BLART is too safe, too easy. It feels aimed at easily entertained pre-tweens, and, you know, it was. For the few of us that care, it's a totally wasted opportunity, but, for most of America, it was great popcorn cinema. It succeeded in what it set out to do.

For those few of us though that need to be challenged with a tad more edge, just wait for OBSERVE AND REPORT. I hear it's got a great date-rape scene!