A dog rules a bland couple. Makes me glad I didn’t read the book. Cured my puppy lust.

I’ve never had a dog. I grew up in cat household. Watching The Dog Whisperer I have become obsessive about having a dog, but I travel too much. Regardless, I have named my imaginary puppy Remi. Here are the rules I learned from Cesar Milan: Dogs need discipline, exercise, and then, some affection. You must be the pack leader.

According to MARLEY & ME, Marley is the pack leader. Not only does Marley do whatever he wants, he doesn’t seem to care a whit about John (Owen Wilson) and Jenny Grogan (Jennifer Aniston). I didn’t see any affection or territorial love from Marley. He wasn’t even John’s best friend.

What happened to Aniston’s face? Those cheek implants are so fresh, I saw her surgeon in the background in every scene.

John and Jenny marry and start their journalism careers. Jenny is a far more successful writer than John, who wants to be a war correspondent instead of a cub city desk reporter. He’s got to put up with comparing himself not only to talented Jenny but his sexy, happily single, womanizer journalism college pal, Sebastian (Eric Dane). They move from Michigan to West Palm Beach, Florida on Sebastian’s recommendation. When Jenny mentions having a baby, Sebastian suggests John get her a dog.

They pick out a discounted Labrador puppy, Marley. John is not a pack leader. In fact, he rightly feels he is a failure compared to Jenny and Sebastian. Even Marley disrespects him.

Frankly, and I know I will hear from all of you dog lovers, but Marley isn’t even loveable or loyal. Would you allow a dog to destroy all of your stuff and furniture? Well, when it’s just movie sets, who cares?

Marley is their substitute autistic child. When Jenny has a baby, she has to give up her promising career to take care of the baby and destructive Marley. Marley has issues that not even a dog trainer (Kathleen Turner) can abide.

(Isn’t it sad when an actress who has had Turner’s career needs to take this one scene role to pay some bills? Note to successful, young actresses: Save some money now!)

Since watching Marley destroy everything John and Jenny have brought could turn future dog lovers into cat lovers, the couple start having problems over John’s stalled writing career, the crying babies, and then the dog. Marley is the Crown Prince of the Grogans. He comes before the children in their affection.

Does Marley wake up the family when the house catches fire? Is he the family’s watchdog? No, he is the destroyer of everything the Grogans paid for.

The movie spans 15 years. As the Grogan’s three children grow up, they move to a palatial farm (with horses and servant’s quarters) and Marley gets old. John and Jenny stay young, though John ditches his face covering bangs once he hits forty.

I can’t believe this was a best-selling book by John Grogan. I’m now going to write a memoir about me and my imaginary Fox Paulistinha dog, Remi Aquiar Alexander.

A dear friend of mine in Brazil breeds Fox Paulistinhas as a hobby. At my friend’s weekend retreat in Itaipava, I bonded with an adorable, obedient, blue-eyed Fox Paulistinha puppy. My friend’s passion is raising rare animals, having recently brought a new species of pony to Brazil. His newest additions are a baby lama and two emus. My friend and his wife also own part of the rain forest adjoining their property. They have an array of rare birds, including a very rare Arara azul de Lear. Around only 450 still live in the wild and some in captivity. A Brazilian government official comes every six months to check on the bird’s care. Trust me, these animals have a full-time staff catering to their every whim. As soon as my husband says “yes”, Remi’s paperwork will be submitted and he will be mine.

Not only do Wilson and Aniston have no chemistry with each other, they have no chemistry with Marley or their movie children. Yes, they kiss a lot, but that’s not movie chemistry; that’s taking direction. The director, David Frankel, does not give Aniston the right camera angles or lighting, and in many scenes she appears to be hiding behind her hair. I couldn’t stop looking at Wilson’s blond bangs draped over his face as a visual clue to his boyish lack of pack leader power.

It’s a movie about luggage.

I just got back from 3 weeks camping in Kenya, Uganda and Rwanda. I have a lot of movies to catch up on. This means 2 movies a day and I’ll still be behind not seeing the really awful ones that I usually see anyway.

But first a word of advice: Don’t go to Rwanda! They don’t like white people there. I found out why and maybe they have a good reason. They still resent the Europeans for colonizing them (and the Germans for making their women sex slaves).* They never asked for it. And they are still pissed off that white folks didn’t help with the genocide of ten years ago that slaughtered 1 million people in 100 days. I learned all this at the Kigali Genocide Memorial Museum.

Every day 60 white folks come into Rwanda specifically to visit the mountain gorillas and the local people get none of the revenue. The hostility was obvious.

Since I lived long ago in Munghr, Bihar, India studying Kriya Yoga at an ashram and considering renunciation (we all did back then), I was eager to see Wes Anderson’s “The Darjeeling Limited.”

But first, there is a 13-minute short film titled HOTEL CHEVALIER, about a young man, Jack (Jason Schwartzman), lounging around a fabulous Paris hotel room. His ex-girlfriend (Natalie Portman) comes to visit him. Portman, who refused to bare any flesh as a stripper for respected director Mike Nichols, shows off more nudity here than the script required. This little film looks like a reenactment from Anderson’s personal life. How vain and self-centered is this? Most of us are taking photos or digital movies as personal mementos. Anderson makes us watch HOTEL CHEVALIER. It’s his way of getting even with someone.

I’m all for helping out deserving relatives, but THE DARJEELING LIMITED is a selfish project designed for the sole purpose of taking Anderson’s friends on an all-expense paid vacation to India and getting a complete, vulgar set of custom luggage designed by Louis Vuitton’s artistic director Marc Jacobs.** Every piece is painted with little animals and a palm tree drawn by the director’s brother, Eric Chase Anderson. Anderson’s mother supervised the catering, his father handled security, and another brother held a walkie-talkie.

If you loved RUSHMORE and THE ROYAL TENENBAUMS, stay clear of DARJEELING. It will stain your love.

Francis (Owen Wilson), cocooned in bandages and bragging endlessly about his wealth, has gathered his two younger brothers, Peter (Adrien Brody) and Jack (Jason Schwartzman), for a spiritual quest to reunite them and visit their mother (Anjelica Huston), who has escaped after the death of their father to India, where she has taken on the visage of a mother-superior-slash-sainted-lady.

Jack is formless, indulgent and not very likeable. Peter’s girlfriend is having a baby in 6 weeks and he could care less. Francis is domineering. No wonder their mother ran off without even sending a forwarding address.

Bringing along a bald, flunky-boy-slash-assistant, Francis has reserved two first class sleeper cars on the Darjeeling train for himself and his brothers and has outlined a detailed itinerary marked out with holy sites along the way.

None of them really cares about family bonding or spiritual enlightenment.

Given that Schwartzman co-wrote the screenplay with Anderson and Roman Coppola (Wes gave Roman a vacation and job as well), Jack immediately has sex with the train’s Indian stewardess, Rita (Amara Karan). That’s two sex scenes for Schwartzman, none for Wilson and Brody.

This “comedy without laughs” veers in a weird direction when the brothers try to rescue some boys on a fast-moving river and one of the boys drowns. Huh? Well, that sure killed the festivities!

But it is the 20 pieces of luggage, prominent in every scene, which dominates the film. Whatever it is meant to represent – I know, I know, its family baggage you carry around – when push comes to shove and the brothers need to hightail it home, they throw away every piece of luggage.

* The Germans claimed Rwanda as a part of German East Africa from 1890. The Belgians occupied Rwanda without opposition in 1916, and the League of Nations created Ruanda-Urundi as a Belgian mandate in 1923.

** Each piece of luggage was put up for auction benefiting UNICEF healthcare programs, as well as the Rawal Mallinathji Foundation, a medical treatment charity in India, where the movie was filmed.

Universal Pictures / An Avis-Davis/Parent production
MPAA rating PG-13 / Running time — 108 minutes

QUOTE: Hudson and Dillon are straight arrows for Wilson’s bespoke character. Fails to ignite comed

I pride myself in being the perfect houseguest. Before I do anything, I take a photo of the guest room. I don’t throw my clothes all over the floor or make the bathroom a methadone clinic/makeup counter. I make no garbage. Every morning I return the guest room according to the digital photo. I bring my own food. I come with a gift. I leave nothing behind.

I even alphabetize my hosts books and condiments.

How come I am so perfect? Because I’ve had houseguests who a) think they are either staying at a five star hotel with maid service, a valet, and personal assistant, or b) at a Motel 6 they can trash, and walk off with the Clorox-stinking towel.

Molly (Kate Hudson) is a saint. Even though her father, Mr. Thompson (Michael Douglas – that latest facelift photographs nicely), is a castrating billionaire, she is an elementary school teacher who is so sweet you’d think she was raised by Mother Theresa. Molly does not know anything about her father and he does not want her to be happy with her hard-working husband, Carl (Matt Dillon), who works for him. Carl’s dual personality is represented by his hair: he has a) real hair for work and b) fake, full curly hair for after-work.

Carl also has a best friend since kindergarten who Molly hardly knows. Dupree (Owen Wilson) has nothing in common with Carl except a childhood – which does not count in my book. Carl abandoned his hell-raising childish ways long ago, but still kept his sacred faux-gay friendship with Dupree.

Because Dupree has no clue that Carl and Molly have just returned from their honeymoon and need time to be alone, he agrees to their allowing him to stay with them for a couple of days when he is homeless and jobless.

Homeless and jobless? How did this happen? You would think DuPrincess just met patient Molly. These three characters have no history, regardless of dialogue pronouncing their familiarity.

Since Carl cannot express himself, he allows Mr. Thompson to bully him mercilessly. No matter what DuPrincess does, even cause a fire that destroys the first floor of her house, Molly likes him. Why?

Nothing in ME, YOU AND DUPREE rings true. Carl marries the boss’s daughter but everyone treats him like a cleaning man dragging a mop.

DuPrincess’s lack of interest in material things and “God-Will-Provide” philosophy is fine for him, but he does not make himself valuable as a guest. He’s not much fun, but soon, because Molly cannot demand her father give Carl a cushy job, she only has DuPrincess as a friend. If only he knew how to shop and accessorize, I could see the need for him in Molly’s orbit.

The movie picks up slightly when Carl finally goes into a rage, but ME, YOU AND DUPREE limps along without fully investing in the other characters. Sure, I love Owen Wilson, but if you expect WEDDING CRASHERS II, this is not it.

Because Molly must be a wonderful person who cannot bitch if Dupree drinks out of the milk carton or refuses to wash a dish, the screenwriter, Michael Le Sieur, has to have Dupree be a wild pig who hasn’t been house-trained, and even then, Molly’s reaction is dull-witted.

Maybe she’s on Xanax.

The premise is good but fails to capture the infectious charm of Dupree’s lifestyle on Carl. Perhaps that would have been more of a plot. What if Carl had gotten a mohawk and turned up at work? What if he had hired Dupree as a night watchman at Mr. Thompson’s United Nations-sized office building?

The directors, Anthony and Joe Russo, do not have the right comedic touch, even though they have Wilson as their star. Wilson is also listed as a producer – this was my first moment of dread. You know this is not a good sign; t means the entire film has been designed around the star and this cheats the other cast members on their character’s foibles and intent.

Credits:
Directors: Anthony Russo, Joe Russo
Writer: Michael Le Sieur
Producers: Owen Wilson, Scott Stuber, Mary Parent
Executive producers: Michael Fottrell, Sean Perrone, Aaron Kaplan
Director of photography: Charles Minsky
Production designer: Barry Robison
Music: Rolfe Kent
Costume designer: Karen Patch
Editors: Peter B. Ellis, Debra Neil-Fisher

Cast:
Dupree: Owen Wilson
Molly: Kate Hudson
Carl: Matt Dillon
Mr. Thompson: Michael Douglas
Neil: Seth Rogen
Annie: Amanda Detmer
Toshi: Ralph Ting

New Line Cinema / A Tapestry Films production
MPAA rating: R / Running time — 119 minutes

QUOTE: Hysterical. It is the triumphant return of the R rating comedy (and Ben Stiller is not in it).

In real life Owen Wilson either (a) can’t get it up, or (b) likes to provide really, really long foreplay.*

While in Kathmandu, Nepal last month, we noticed a steady stream of tuxedoed gentlemen and sari-wearing women going up to the ballroom. Several members of our trekking group crashed the Danish ambassador’s farewell party and danced the night away. Having only brought a pair of well-worn hiking boots and Hot Chilly underwear as lingerie, I declined to wander upstairs to the ballroom and mingle with the upper-crust of political dignitaries. Unlike the rest of our trek through Tibet, the party – we were told – had an abundant supply of food, loud music and liquor.

Divorce mediators John Beckwith (Owen Wilson) and Jeremy Grey (Vince Vaughn) should actually hire themselves out as paid wedding guests. They are the life of the party! These two barely stay seated all night and chow down the wedding food with gusto. John and Jeremy are long-time buddies who crash weddings after perusing wedding announcements in the newspaper. Weddings, their theory goes, is fertile ground to have casual sex with drunk bridesmaids. With the appropriate attire and love for all kinds of weddings, these two crash Jewish, Italian, Irish, Chinese, and Hindu weddings. They dance with grandmothers, sing tributes, and make balloon animals for the kids. Apparently, they are following a set of rules laid down by the master of wedding crashing, the great Seth.

I can’t wait for the book!

The pinnacle of the wedding season is the marriage of the daughter of Treasury Secretary William Cleary (Christopher Walken) and his tramp wife Kathleen (Jane Seymour) in Washington, D.C. If they can get into this wedding, they have hit the jackpot.

Getting their story straight as to who they are related to and what they do for a living, John and Jeremy troll the church and settle on bridesmaids Claire (Rachel McAdams) and Gloria (Isla Fisher) Cleary. John is attracted to Claire, the only member of her family who is not crazy, though she does have a mean-spirited, creepy boyfriend, Sack (Bradley Cooper).Senator Cleary is wisely thrilled Claire is with Sack since he is also from a prominent political dynasty. When sex-mad Gloria falls instantly in love with Jeremy, they are induced into accepting an invitation to spend a glorious weekend at the Kennedy-style Cleary family compound.

Providing an arsenal of proper clothes for last-minute guests, the Cleary’s lifestyle is divinely elegant but odd: Kathleen flirts with John after announcing she is not in a monogamous marriage and Grandmother Cleary bluntly calls her grandson Todd (Keir O’Donnell) a homo at the dinner table. Apparently, this sets up the inevitable romantic triangle – like his sister Gloria, Todd takes a sudden liking to Jeremy.

An R comedy? Directed by David Dobkin and written by Steve Faber & Bob Fisher, Ben Stiller is not even a wedding guest. Vince Vaughn is brilliant. He has honed this peculiar personality to a fine art no one else can match. He is so blunt, so deliberately self-centered and rude, that he is absolutely engaging. You can’t take your eyes off him. (Vaughn’s small role in MR. AND MRS. SMITH was another highlight for him. But can he help Jennifer Aniston get a film career? I doubt the Vaughn-Aniston pairing will work.) And Wilson downplays his pursed-lips delivery and when required actually appears sincere. Try it: it’s not that easy to pull off acting sincere.

The only problem I had with WEDDING CRASHERS is the annoying co-star: The hair. Wilson’s hair had a handler; Vaughn’s sudden change of toupees; and Adams’s hair looks like she never bothered to have it washed before appearing on set. What man spends so much time on his hair as Owen Wilson does in WEDDING CRASHERS? Get a hair weave, please!

Wilson and Vaughn are the best new comedy team, destined quickly for another movie. Will there be the inevitable hissy fits and assistants counting their lines? Right now, WEDDING CRASHERS is genius pairing (with a special guest appearance by an actor playing Seth who rocks). Owen, there is always Jack Black if Vince becomes temperamental.

Cast:
John Beckwith: Owen Wilson
Jeremy Klein: Vince Vaughn
Secretary Cleary: Christopher Walken
Claire Cleary: Rachel McAdams
Gloria Cleary: Isla Fisher
Kathleen Cleary: Jane Seymour
Grandma Cleary: Ellen Albertini Dow
Todd Cleary: Keir O’Donnell
Sack Lodge: Bradley Cooper

Credits:
Director: David Dobkin
Screenwriters: Steve Faber & Bob Fisher
Producers: Peter Abrams, Robert L. Levy, Andrew Panay
Executive producers: Guy Riedel
Toby Emmerich, Richard Brener, Cale Boyter
Director of photography: Julio Macat
Production designer: Barry Robison
Music: Rolfe Kent
Costumes: Denise Wingate
Editor: Mark Livolsi

Buena Vista Pictures / Touchstone Pictures presents an American Empirical picture
MPAA rating R / Running time — 119 minutes

QUOTE: Smug and slow moving. Who cares about Steve Zissou? For Anderson, it was all about the boat.

Here is what Glenn Kenny said in a capsule review of “Life Aquatic” (Premiere magazine, Dec. 2004/January 2005): “There are those who hold that Anderson is some kind of snooty postmodern ironist; I find his pictures full of actual emotion, albeit emotion modulated by a wry sometimes rueful whimsy. (I can’t imagine how anyone could see “Rushmore’s” fadeout, to the strains of Faces’ “Ooh LaLa,” as anywhere near snarky.) This picture, more than anything Anderson’s done, privileges imaginative exuberance over ham-fisted emotional “impact”; I savored every frame and gorged on every sound (being a fan of ‘70s Bowie helps).”

Well, there you have it! I have no frame of reference for “a wry sometimes rueful whimsy” or “snooty postmodern ironist.” If you do and can, like Kenny, compare “Rushmore” to “Rome, Open City,” please let me know. My personal email address is below.

Reading Kenny’s capsule take on “Life Aquatic” in Premiere made me want to hate the film without even seeing it. But I threw away my Kenny-induced prejudice after Touchstone Pictures sent me a Life Aquatic red cap, sky blue Speedo, and official Team Zissou I.D. card (with place for photo). I like Bill Murray ever since he finally, last year, grew tired of all the honors Sofia Coppola got for her body of work (THE VIRGIN SUICIDES and LOST IN TRANSLATION) and addressed it publicly. But, what was Esquire magazine’s The Genius Issue thinking when it put on its December 2005 Bill Murray cover, “Will Somebody Please Give This Man An Oscar?”

Are Oscars gifts or awards?

In Wes Anderson’s THE ROYAL TENENBAUMS the patriarch is ruthlessly self-centered yet so glib and fascinating to Anderson that despite Royal Tenenbaum’s self-loathing flaws, his quirky family are satellites revolving around him – the lynchpin of the drama torturing their lives. Anderson’s “I Was Neglected By My Father” obsession continues. This time the lynchpin is 52-year old “cold-as-a-fish” oceanographer Steve Zissou (Bill Murray). He has a rich indulgent wife, Eleanor (Anjelica Huston) and a devoted group of researchers. Zissou documents every moment of his life and he is very involved in filmmaking. He might be a self-centered scientist, but he knows the right camera lens and how to match shots. Anything that might be emotionally interesting for his documentary must be filmed or re-enacted. He knows all about cutaways and close-ups.

Team Zissou consists primarily of Klaus (Willem Dafoe, the only funny character in the movie), a jealous, insecure German engineer; Pele dos Santos (Seu Jorge) a guitar-playing crew member who sings David Bowie songs in Portuguese; an Indian cameraman, assorted staff, and a troupe of unpaid interns. Suddenly a pregnant British journalist, Jane Winslett-Richardson (pregnant Cate Blanchett, adopting a weird accent. Doesn’t her husband ever work?), turns up to do, as Zissou insists, a puff cover story on Zissou. Tennessee co-pilot Ned Plimpton (Owen Wilson) believes he is Zissou’s long-lost son. Zissou invites him to join Team Zissou since a father-son sub-plot will work well in the making of Part Two of his documentary.

In Part One, Zissou’s lover – I mean, friend – Esteban du Plantier (Seymour Cassel) is eaten alive by a strange sea creature. Zissou vows to find the “Jaguar Shark” and kill him, revenging his friend’s death. Along for the adventure aboard Zissou’s converted World War II ship, The Belafonte, is a bond company representative, Bill Ubell (Bud Cort), who Zissou keeps mocking. Zissou decides he might be interested in the journalist even though he is too old for her and she favors his “son.” Eleanor doesn’t want to kill the shark so she deserts him for the island retreat of her possibly bi-sexual ex-husband, Hennessey (Jeff Goldblum), a rich oceanographer with a Nazi-youth staff.

This comedy then turns ugly but, respecting those who complain I give away too much plot, didn’t make any sense to me. Unless, of course, Anderson is still harboring some unresolved family conflicts and this was his way of punishing Daddy. I struggled to find a satisfactory explanation for the fate of Ned.

Anderson loves his cutaway ship set and it is the star of THE LIFE AQUATIC’S $50 Million budget. Anderson assembled his cast for an extravagant holiday in picturesque locations but neglected to direct his actors. Everyone is self-directing. Murray does awkward, stale line-readings; Blanchett has an affected accent (I hope is not her own); Wilson does a bad Southern accent; Dafoe pulls out a lousy German accent; and that constant interruption to listen to Bowie’s songs in Portuguese (it was nicely done in THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT MARY but not here), served no cute purpose.

I did love the fabulous brightly colored underwater scenes that Anderson lavished attention on. But, oh my God, the ending shot was something a first-year film student would avoid at all costs: When Zissou and his clan see the phantom sea creature, each person places a hand on Zissou’s shoulder. Why? Did Zissou have an epiphany? Did he see a piece of Esteban hanging out of the shark’s mouth and needed the reassuring touch of each member of Team Zissou? Did, as Zissou opines, the shark recognize him?

Credits:
Director: Wes Anderson
Screenwriters: Wes Anderson, Noah Baumbach
Producers: Wes Anderson, Barry Mendel, Scott Rudin
Executive producer: Rudd Simmons
Director of photography: Robert Yeoman
Production designer: Mark Friedberg
Music: Mark Mothersbaugh
Co-producer: Enzo Sisti
Costume designer: Milena Canonero
Editor: David Moritz

Cast:
Steve Zissou: Bill Murray
Ned Plimpton: Owen Wilson
Jane Winslett-Richardson: Cate Blanchett
Eleanor Zissou: Anjelica Huston
Klaus Daimler: Willem Dafoe
Alistair Hennessey: Jeff Goldblum
Oseary Drakoulias: Michael Gambon
Bill Ubell: Bud Cort
Pele dos Santos: Seu Jorge
Esteban du Plantier: Seymour Cassel

Warner Bros. Pictures and Dimension Films present a Riche-Ludwig/Weed Road/Red Hour production of a Todd Phillips movie
Running time — 100 minutes / MPAA rating: PG-13

Okay, here’s my problem. I’m burned out on Ben Stiller. He’s in everything. I spotted him in the bar in LOST IN TRANSLATION and as one of the sailors under Jack Aubrey’s command on the HMS Surprise. He was Captain Jack Sparrow’s lover in THE PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN and, I’m told by someone who saw an advance screening of THE PASSION OF THE CHRIST, he is one of the Jews in the crowd yelling: “Away with this man, and release to us Barabbas!” I’m afraid to go to sleep worried he’ll turn up in my dreams.

Stiller is not taking any chances waiting for roles. He takes every role offered to him. Maybe he’s being blackmailed by the Russian Mob. And another film teaming him with Owen Wilson? I’ve grown tired of their “chemistry.” I’m happy they like each other and want to spend months together making films. How nice for them, but why not just go on a quiet, secluded vacation by themselves?

All this bias in front of me and I liked STARSKY & HUTCH. Maybe it was all the homosexual horseplay.

Frown-faced Detective David Starsky (Ben Stiller) is reluctantly partnered with “Bend the Rules” Detective Ken “Hutch” Hutchinson (Owen Wilson). On their first day together they come across a dead body in the Bay. Hutch wants to push the corpse down towards another police precinct and let them handle it. Starsky follows police procedures. He is excitable, tense, and knows his laws.

The dead man crossed drug dealer Reese Feldman (Vince Vaughn) who has found an inventive way to transport cocaine. Starsky and Hutch’s investigation take them Hutch’s chief informant Huggy Bear (Snoop Dogg) that leads them to prison where they interview Feldman’s kinky gay chemist (Will Farrell).

STARSKY & HUTCH is all about Stiller. Thankfully, Wilson subdues his overdone mannerisms (the pursed lips, the drag-on dialogue, the silky voice) and stands aside as Stiller hams it up doing freaked-out shtick. The direction, by Todd Phillips, is messy and slipshod. We kept noticing the boom and scenes are set up without regard for the positioning of the actors. The back of heads is often in the forefront of the shot. Yes, it is a mess, but somehow it works.

The carelessness seems intentional. It is part of the silliness.

Screenwriters John O’Brien, Todd Phillips, Scot Armstrong (with story credit going to Stevie Long and John O’Brien) do not tax themselves or wring their hands over an original script. If only murder, mayhem, and police work were this easy in real life! I guess there is enough Starsky and Hutch buried in our collective unconscious for this franchise to work.

Vaughn and Farrell are always perfect in roles that are tailored to them. They know exactly how to play their scenes maximizing all the attention. They are both big men and know how to use their physicality to their advantage. Jason Bateman, I’m a big fan of “Arrested Development”! Now, I hate to admit it, but Snoop Dogg has a natural, easygoing charm that translates well to the screen. I know encouraging him will only mean he’ll be doing a Broadway play next, starring in TERMINATOR 4, or producing/directing/starring in a romantic comedy.

Credits:
Director: Todd Phillips
Screenwriters: John O’Brien, Todd Phillips, Scot Armstrong
Story by: Stevie Long, John O’Brien
Based on characters created by: William Blinn
Producers: William Blinn, Stuart Cornfeld, Akiva Goldsman, Tony Ludwig, Alan Riche
Executive producer: Gilbert Adler
Director of photography: Barry Peterson
Production designer: Edward Verreaux
Editor: Leslie Jones
Costume designer: Louise Mingenbach
Music: Theodore Shapiro

Cast:
Detective David Starsky: Ben Stiller
Detective Ken Hutchinson: Owen Wilson
Reese Feldman: Vince Vaughn
Kitty: Juliette Lewis
Huggy Bear: Snoop Dogg
Police Capt. Dobey: Fred Williamson
Staci: Carmen Electra
Holly: Amy Smart