I have a recurring dream in which I die (many others, I’m sure, have this same dream about me). I find myself standing at the gates of heaven, listening to St. Peter read through my achievements and failings, deciding whether I have done enough to attain entrance.
St. Peter: Hmmm, yes, you went to church every Sunday. Good, good. You gave to the poor in both time and money. Excellent. And it says here that you once saved a Girl Scout troop from R. Kelly. My goodness, you really have lived a worthwhile life.
Me (modestly): Ah, it was nothing.
St. Peter (peering at his scroll): Well, I see no reason why you shouldn’t … hold on, what’s this? You once wasted half a Sunday to appear as an extra in a movie called “The Life of Lucky Cucumber”?
Me: Uh, well, it wasn’t my idea … and it had Squeak from “Baseketball” in it.
St. Peter: ’Fraid there’s no room for you in here.
Me: But what about when I saved all those nuns from that convent fire?
St. Peter: Guess you’re about to know how they would have felt. GOING DOWN!
(The floor opens up and I plummet to hell, which in this instance consists of an eternity of watching the offending movie with its writer/star Preston Lacy.)
Yes, it is with great shame that I admit that, very briefly, you can make out my tall and gangly frame as part of a crowd in Lacy’s ode to his home area. It is with even greater shame that I admit that I actually sat through the entirety of what rightfully should have been flushed.
It’s hard to completely describe the plot of “Lucky Cucumber,” because apparently the writers (Lacy and Sam Maccarone) didn’t seem to have much of a clue what it should be either. It appears that the script was cobbled together from fuzzy memories of jokes that probably seemed hilarious four Jager bombs into an all-night bender. However, as with drunken hookups and vomit stains on your friend’s couch, some things are best never to be brought back up in daylight. .
The gist of it is this: Lucky Cucumber Cavanaugh (Dian Bachar) has the best and worst luck of anyone known. A documentary crew (played by Lacy and Maccarone) follow him, attempting to capture his story. Hilarity, in theory, ensues. In actuality, we get a forced and labored effort so unfunny as to make me rethink my opinion of “The Love Guru.” The film is completely nonsensical, pounding the viewer with stillborn jokes and idiotic scenarios in the vain attempt to convince us there might be actual humor hidden underneath all of the treacle. Lacy thus far has been known as a member of the “Jackass” crew. After watching “Lucky Cucumber,” I can say that he should probably stick to what he knows. That he ever thought that this film was a good idea in the first place is beyond comprehension; that it was funded at all suddenly helps me to make sense of the sorry state of our current economy. After all, if money can be spent to make something as irredeemable and atrocious as this, what value does the dollar truly have, anyway?
Joplin only gets mentioned by name in the outtakes, which should be looked at as a blessing in disguise. I imagine that Lacy and Maccarone thought they were making a modern day “This is Spinal Tap” when they envisioned this convoluted tale. What they didn’t realize is that they are completely lacking in what Rob Reiner/Marty DiBergi and the Tap crew had in spades: Talent.
My rating: No reels (out of four)
Address correspondence to Benji Tunnell, c/o The Joplin Globe, P.O. Box 7, Joplin, MO 64802 or benjitunnell@gmail.com.
