Green Bay godfathers and hockey-playing chimps

By now, you’ve probably heard how Wisconsin is destined to become the next great film capital of the world, which it isn’t, and how everyone from the Coen brothers to the rotting, re-animated corpse of D.W. Griffith will be falling all over themselves just for the privilege of filming here, which they won’t. The truth is this: the recently passed Film Wisconsin tax incentive bill will have a long-lasting, detrimental effect that will further tarnish our already-sketchy national reputation (and in a state that’s produced both Jeffrey Dahmer and the TMJ4 “Dirty Dining” team, that’s saying a lot).

Before I go any further, I should make it perfectly clear that I’m not setting out to trash our many talented local filmmakers or ridicule the vibrant scene they’ve nurtured over the years. No, I’m here to warn against the legions of out-of-state filmmakers this tax break will attract, and the endless number of awful, awful movies they will almost certainly make in – and about – Wisconsin. Sure, a flick or two about Dillinger is fine for now, but let’s see how we feel after the umpteenth “Aren’t those backwater Midwesterners just so darn quirky!” movie comes down the pipe. Trust me; it’ll make the Bronze Fonze seem like a goddamned Frank Gehry concert hall.

To illustrate this further, I recently immersed myself in two different types of films in order to find out which was more unwatchable: movies made in and about Wisconsin, or movies about animals playing sports. My findings proved to be embarrassing, infuriating, and in at least two cases, downright adorable. So, if you, dear reader, have any interest in protecting the image of our fair state, read on, and take heed.

The Godfather of Green Bay is a horrible, horrible movie. I mean, it’s really horrible. In all my years as a discerning moviegoer, no film has filled me with such seething contempt for humanity, and yes, I’ve seen Garden State. When an appearance by Mark Borchardt is the least offensive thing about a movie, you know you’re in for a nightmare. Put lightly, GOGB is one of the worst movies ever made. Air Bud, on the other hand, was kind of fun.

The list of cinematic crimes GOGB commits is unforgivable: one, it’s about stand-up comics; two, its insights into Wisconsin go no deeper than “ya der hey” accents and frequent mentions of how the Bears, like, totally suck. The plot involves writer/director/star Schwaba – whose performance could give a piece of wet cardboard a run for its money – heading to Wisconsin for a Tonight Show audition, and falling in love with a clearly embarrassed Lauren Holly in the process. Oh, and there’s some sort of crime kingpin with a mullet. Who loves the Packers. And hates the Bears. Ha ha. The fact that Wisconsinites were actually entertained by this poorly made, shamelessly pandering barrel-scraper (it inexplicably won some award or other at the 2005 Milwaukee International Film Festival) is clearly a final sign of the apocalypse.

Seventh Inning Fetch, on the other hand, commits none of these crimes. Eschewing any references to blaze orange or “T-zone” hunting, it follows a time-tested dramatic formula that’s been around since Shakespeare: girl’s best friend joins junior high baseball team, best friend gets hurt, girl takes her place but sucks, girl’s golden retriever joins the team and starts batting a .347. Clearly, Air Bud is the more watchable of the two, especially if you happen to be 12 years old and/or stoned.

MILWAUKEE, MINNESOTA (2003, d. Allan Mindel)
Vs.
MVP: MOST VALUABLE PRIMATE (2001, d. Robert Vince)

On the surface, Milwaukee, Minnesota looks horrible: ice fishing, a mentally challenged protagonist, more blaze orange. Directed by Allan Mindel – a kind of low-rent Gus Van Sant – the awkward “Hey! This takes place in Wisconsin!” moments are handled with all the subtly of a stomach pump: a few forced mentions of fish fries here, some prominently displayed cases of PBR there. MVP, on the other hand, is about a hockey-playing monkey. Let that sink in for a moment: a hockey-playing monkey.

Actually, MKE, MN wasn’t all that bad. The plot involves a “special” ice-fisherman who becomes the object of interest to an ever-growing number of con men and women. I was a little lost (and bored) after the fifth or sixth double-cross, though playing “Spot the Bay View Bar!” (Club Garibaldi! The Palomino!) proved a good distraction. With ringers like Bruce Dern and Randy Quaid in supporting roles, the acting is solid throughout, though Troy Garity’s lead turn as Albert suggests his research of the mentally challenged extended no further than renting The Waterboy.

For a movie about – once again – a hockey-playing monkey, MVP was kind of a letdown. Maybe it was the way the titular primate looked decidedly uncomfortable in full hockey gear, or maybe it was the fact that the dirty ape didn’t hit the ice until an hour in, but watching this would-be-masterpiece was more taxing than entertaining. I fast-forwarded through most of it, making MKE, MN the winner by default.

So what did I learn? Only this: tying up your Netflix queue with movies about dogs that play first base can drive an otherwise perfectly sane girlfriend bat-shit-nuts. As for Milwaukee’s future as a “Midwest Hollywood,” well, if a movie about a hockey-playing monkey can spawn a sequel (look for my review of MXP: Most X-treme Primate next month!), anything is possible. VS