The evil humans of the American Government are trying to ban high-fructose corn syrup. A group of corn ears from across the Corn Belt, led by the young but fierce Colonel Kernel band together to stop it.
Why would corn be angry that it’s not being eaten? Good question. In a rousing speech to rile up the troops before one of the film’s major battles, Kernel’s Lieutenant, Abe Lincorn, complete with top-hat, explains it all. “Four score and seven ears ago,” he begins, “we were put on this earth to be eaten, to make food taste better and, eventually, to replace the syrup of the evil Maple tree.” It brings a sweet, sugary tear to the eye. Or maybe I’m just secreting sucrose.
Reading this film’s premise, you could say that Pixar might be losing its touch, but then you’ll realize this is a DreamWorks picture and go back to reading your Hagar the Horrible comic.
No matter the premise, the cast, led by the indestructible and infallible Danny Bonaduce as Col. Kernel, is filled with inspired choices. Philip Baker Hall plays Johnny Maize, a multi-colored ear who loves extreme sports and pops some of his kernels attempting a stunt mid-film, and if my office celebrity death pool predictions are accurate, Betty White’s hip-hop droppin ear Cornelius might just prove to be her first underground success.
The most bewildering thing about this film is its shameless anti-government message. Congress is filled with what look like clones, though it is never explained as such, and they are all constantly on Segways, even on the floor of the House. That they have stupidly lost the ability to walk is a semi-clever explanation that is never offered up. Instead we get several scenes of congressmen banging into each other while trying to legislate for larger aisles on the floor.
Already playing as the most blatant piece of Tea Party propaganda since Alice in Wonderland, the film dives into territory perhaps only navigated by Jimmy Stewart during his bloody rifle-fueled rampage in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington when Kernel and his rag-tag band actually invade Washington D.C.
During their march through Washington, Lt. Lincorn climbs the steps of the Lincoln Memorial ahead of his group of marauders. “Not here, guys,” he says with dignity. Much of the film’s humor is of this tone, and like my first bowl of Corn Flakes in three years, after the first few spoonfuls I realize why I never eat the stuff. It’s way too corny. And while for the purposes of publicity DreamWorks has tried to redefine the word corny to mean every complimentary adjective in the English language (“Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 4 is sooo corny!”), the stunt is not going to cornvince anyone.
When a few ears decide to break for a trip to the theater, for instance, one of the more naive ears discovers everyone eating popcorn. “You monsters!” he exclaims, storming out. If there’s one thing I learned from this film’s committee of twenty-seven writers, it’s that when ears of corn poop…it’s all corn!
I won’t ruin the film’s exciting cornclusion, but in several scenes very much not appropriate for the young audience this film is aimed toward, high fructose corn syrup becomes a stand-in for intravenous heroin. If you’ve always wondered what a hilarious montage of heroin addiction would be like, well, here’s a parody of your imagination!
The inspiration behind Colonel Kernel appears to be the forlorn hope that talking corn is funny and corn puns are very easy to write. And while at least one of these points is true, I must pose this question to the astute film-goer: how do ears of corn practice safe sex? By wearing corndoms!
The Fake Movie Critic 