Snarky, Self-Effacing Blog Title

So I finally saw Enchanted.  And I gotta say, it lived down to my expectations.  It wasn’t awful.  But I did remark to my feverish husband (after the CGI vermin apartment-cleansing scene) "I’m still waiting for this movie to win me over."  Because it was sort of falling right into the live-action Disney traps of weak script, cheap cinematography and (with the exception of the formidable Amy Adams) so-so acting (including and especially from Patrick Dempsey, whose fame continues to baffle me.)  Then came the Central Park scene–that fabulous full-on production number complete with Mariachi and steel drum bands.  If I had only seen from that point to the ballroom scene, I would have said that this was a good movie. Those middle 20 minutes were pretty precious in spite of Schwartz’s Schwartzy lyrics and the aforementioned pitfalls; the film was suddenly earnest and fresh and creative.  And then there was the dragon. The awful, embarrasing dragon.   And my smile turned back to a scowl and I mourned. 

Because when you get right down to it, I loved, loved, loved the old Disney cartoons.  And if you’re going to do a sendup farce/homage to your own body of work it had better be as good as if not better than Cinderella/SnowWhite/LittleMermaid/SleepingBeauty/Alladin, etc.  This was barely better than the remake of The Parent Trap.  Sorry.  Disney’s standards have slumped, and were it not for Pixar I would say it was time to put them and Elton John out to pasture.  What would I do without Brad Bird to keep alive my favorite brainwashing brand?

Sigh.