By Alan Scherstuhl
By Stephanie Zacharek
By Carolina Del Busto
By Amy Nicholson
By Simon Abrams
By Kevin Dilmore
By New Times
By Amy Nicholson
In the case of Coyote Ugly, someone apparently thought the answer was "an especially formulaic plot that pushes the titular bar into the background while moralistically wagging its finger at the sensuality of it all." It's sad, really, because there probably could have been a decent story to tell that actually focused on the bar, based upon a real establishment of the same name in New York. Instead, we get the same old small-town-girl-in-the-big-city-seeks-fame routine, and she isn't even seeking fame as a bartender. Our heroine, Violet (Piper Perabo), is a beautiful and super-talented singer-songwriter (songs voiced by LeAnn Rimes, who is amusingly billed in the press kit as an "adult actress," and written by omnipresent film songsmith Diane Warren), but there's one hitch: She has (hold your breath) a serious case of stage fright! If she could only overcome that, the film would have us believe, she'd be an instant megastar, thanks in part to a prominent product-placement Macintosh computer that can help anyone write songs.
But whatever. The first half of the movie is actually a reasonably entertaining trifle, with Violet and her Pepto-Bismol-chugging best friend Gloria (Melanie Lynskey, the girl from Heavenly Creatures who isn't Kate Winslet) packing up in preparation for the trip to the big city as Dad (John Goodman, doing his damnedest to save the film) fusses and grumbles about his little girl leaving him all alone. Once Violet gets to the city, she tries shopping around her demo tape, only to find that (gasp) talent agency receptionists are rude! (They all seem to have been patterned on David Spade.) She seems to have finally struck gold when she encounters handsome Australian club owner Kevin (Adam Garcia), but it turns out to be an elaborate practical joke when the man is revealed to be a lowly cook. He does, however, turn out to be the Perfect Man, with his self-deprecating sense of humor, smooth dance moves, shapely body and . . . comic book collection? (Only in a screenwriter's mind could this happen.)
Yes, believe it or not, he's in debt to some shady characters all because he's desperate to own a copy of the issue of Spider-Man that featured the debut of the Punisher. While fending off Kevin's advances, and desperately seeking cash, Violet happens to be in a diner when she overhears three gorgeous beauties counting their money. No sooner has one of the beauties (Tyra Banks) announced that she's leaving the bar where they work than Violet loudly overhears the expository phrase, "She's gonna be impossible to replace!" Soon Violet's a "Coyote" (the bar's name comes from an expression for a particularly unattractive guy one might wake up next to with a hangover), and we get what we paid for: girls dancing atop the counter to classic rock while pouring water on each other. Unfortunately, none of these sequences was shot in the actual Coyote Ugly, which may explain why the location seems like a generic movie bar rather than a place that would inspire urban legends.
And then the artificial postmidpoint crises occur. Dad and Kevin both disapprove of Violet shaking her thing. A major character faces a life-threatening situation. And some grievous misunderstandings occur, only to be easily resolved in sitcomlike fashion. If you make it this far through the film, don't walk out, as Goodman gets some good physical comedy bits toward the end, but you might be better advised to avoid paying admission altogether and wait for the TV edit. It's PG-13, so you won't miss much: None of the women ever wears any less than what you see on the poster. Coyote Ugly thereby is fully in keeping with the rule of Jerry Bruckheimer-produced films (assuming one likes Bruckheimer to begin with, which most critics don't and many of the public do): The R-rated ones are fun (The Rock, every film Tony Scott has ever made), while the PG-13 ones are not (Armageddon, Gone in 60 Seconds). Sorry, Jerry, but you just can't do a big, loud testosterone flick and hold back on the sex and violence. Strip all those juicy distractions away, and there's nothing left but formula.
As a matter of fact, this film is as much of a departure from Bruckheimer's usual style as we're likely to ever see from him: No one dies, the editing runs at a leisurely pace and tinted filters aren't gratuitously obvious. The director, newcomer David McNally, was presumably hired for his previous work on commercials and rock videos (like Michael Bay and Simon West before him), but apparently someone forgot to tell Bruckheimer that McNally's most prominent videos were for Celine Dion. Quick -- name a single memorable Celine Dion video (and the one from Titanic doesn't count).
Most offensive of all is the subtle moralizing; the idea that Violet can be empowered by working at Coyote Ugly, yet must rise above such debauchery in order to be truly happy. Bruckheimer has never been a prude: Is this his attempt to placate feminists? As pro wrestler The Rock would say: Know your role, Jerry -- you make guy movies. And there's nothing wrong with that. You'll never be Nora Ephron, and you shouldn't even think of going there to begin with. After all, you don't see her messing around with pyrotechnics. As for Perabo, she certainly looks great. But after a while, her face becomes tedious, with its range of expressions from bemused grin to ultrawide bemused grin all the way through to trembling-through-tears bemused grin. (On a side note, why do so many actors maintain a smiling mouth while crying onscreen? Does anyone you know do this?) Garcia is a better bet for breakthrough star, channeling more charisma than that other handsome young Aussie of the summer, Heath Ledger.
Goodman is better than the rest of the cast put together. And with the exception of Maria Bello as the hardened bar owner, none of the Coyote girls makes a strong impression. Tyra Banks stands out by being the only one who isn't white, but that's about it. Given the prices of movie tickets, popcorn and sodas, you might as well take your money to a strip club instead. The ladies may not serve you alcohol, but they won't try to distract you with a plot, and it's almost a lock that the music will be better.
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