"Garfield" Still Fat and Lazy – But So Is the Movie

Sad? Probably. But so what? Garfield, Odie, Nermal and the rest are my friends, creature comforts of my youth that bring a smile to my face and a skip to every step. Along with that “silly ol’bear,” this lazy fat-cat is someone I’d almost be tempted to say I couldn’t do without, and if that makes me appear to be just a wee bit too childish for my own good I really don’t give a darn.

After all, aren’t deep-rooted connections to our childhood a good thing? Whether they be a trusted stuffed animal, a picture book from an especially significant vacation or report cards reflecting an education well-earned, these little remembrances help shape who we are. As adults it is all-too important to move away from childhood, responsibility heaped upon our shoulders to make our lives – and the lives of our children – something to be proud of. So by having a keepsake or two, a memento of a youth silently ebbing away, we not only keep a bridge open to who we once were but also create a path to who we are becoming, hopefully making ourselves better adults in the process.

What does any of this have to do with Twentieth Century Fox’s attempt to bring the lasagna loving feline to the big screen? Absolutely nothing, really, for “Garfield: The Movie” isn’t so much an attempt to translate the sarcastically lovable cat for a new audience as it is a blatant attempt to cash-in. Much like the title character, this movie is lazy, selfishly trading on the notion that audience’s warmth and affection for Garfield is enough to guarantee success.

It isn’t, and this is one Garfield lover who just isn’t going to sit around and take it. Rarely have a seen a picture more inept. More and more, it is beginning to look like Peter Hewitt’s wonderful fantasy film “The Borrowers” was nothing more than blind luck, his handling here enough to make me long for the glory days of Ed Wood and Alan Smithee. (For those that don’t know Hollywood, the latter is the pseudonym for directors who take their names off a picture.) As for screenwriters Joel Cohen and Alec Sokolow, “Toy Story” authors who should know better, they don’t even try to make their work memorable, relying instead upon tired jokes and recycled ideas that haven’t been funny in decades.

There really isn’t much to talk about. The plot is straight pre-school (not that there is anything wrong with that, but a random episode of “Blue’s Clues” is more interesting than what is going on here), dealing with friendship and personal responsibility. In fact, these are the very same things touched upon in that lauded animated Christmas Special I touched on earlier, Garfield’s unrealized love for canine Odie and owner Jon Arbuckle (Breckin Meyer, “Rat Race”). In this case, the overweight cat must journey across the city and into the heart of a television studio battling carnivorous rats, slobbering dogs and a maniacal morning talkshow host (Stephen Tobolowsky (“Freaky Friday”) who has kidnapped Odie.

None of it really matters, though, as the filmmakers don’t even care enough about their plot to give it any importance. Heck, they wait a good thirty-five minutes before they even get it rolling, the barely 80-minute picture more than half over by then. Instead, this isn’t so much a movie as a series of vignettes, none of them even remotely amusing or having anything to do with the acclaimed comic strip on which they are based.

Examples? Neighbor cat Nermal isn’t the super-cute feline everyone loves and Garfield mails to Abudobee, instead he’s a stupidly annoying sidekick that’s rather ugly. Veterinarian Liz (Jennifer Love-Hewitt, “Heartbreakers”) is googly-eyed and silly over Jon instead of being the acerbically witty woman whom amusedly tolerates the befuddled man’s advances. Heck, even Odie is all wrong, the dog they’ve chosen to portray him having nothing in common with the oblong slobber-box we know and love from the strip.

Then there is Garfield himself. Getting Bill Murray to voice him was inspired. Giving him nothing to say is a travesty. Save for one brief, shining moment where the fuzzy feline warbles a tune to self-love set to Billy Joel’s “New York State of Mind,” Murray never gets a chance to sparkle, walking through his delivery as if the paycheck is barely enough to cover the effort. As for the CGI bringing Garfield to life, the less said about it the better. One imagines the bills being delivered to the studio for the effects and hopes they refuse to pay, the work so shoddy it baffles the mind.

As upset as I am towards this movie’s ineptitude, it’s hard to be too harsh. Little kids, especially those under the age of ten, are going to eat this up, and parents shouldn’t feel at all worried about their little ones sitting through it, the lessons being learned good ones. It is also a rather quiet movie with almost no violence, obscenity or mature innuendo to offend. (I swear, the only reason this film gets a PG and not a G is due to Love-Hewitt’s unbelievably skimpy attire and ample chest area.) With today’s family films so often just the opposite, those are traits almost worth applauding.