Tommy DeBolo’s “electric secret” is actually a slew of oddities barely interesting enough to make the National Enquirer. 1) He can turn electric devices on and off with his mind, 2) When he raises his hand he can pick up radio frequencies through his mouth, or nose, or…forehead. I’m still not sure. The facial close-ups weren’t specific. 3) Something else concerning electricity that I don’t remember. Let’s say…electric farts and 4) the BIG ONE. Static electricity gives him strength. IN FACT, without it he will DIE.
If you find yourself picturing an “edge-of-your-seat” scene where Tommy is rubbing his sneakers over the carpet while tense music plays…ugh, I’m sorry to say you get a gold star.
I know what you’re thinking, “Mr., you’re ruining the movie!” In actuality its ruination has been in progress since day one of production. Tommy’s secrets are all revealed within the first ten minutes of the film, and in exposition dry enough to match the cotton mouth I got trying to self-medicate myself into getting through this ninety minute pile. So at the very least, I’m saving you ten minutes. Now let’s see if I can save you the other eighty.
The film begins with a heartfelt moment. A man, who we later learn is Tommy, is caressing his cat, a grey tabby. Suddenly, thunder cracks. The cat jumps off the man’s lap and runs out the kitchen’s doggie door. We follow sweet little tabby as it climbs a power pole and gets electrocuted to a crisp. The camera pulls up and out to reveal every house on the block losing power one by one. Power outage.
When I said heartfelt I meant that this is the only time during the film when you will realize your heart is still beating.
Power Outage has everything that nobody ever wanted: the humor of a bad sketch show–the scene when Tommy raises his hand during chemistry class and picks up a Howard Stern-like DJ is a knee slapper–, the action of a large, drowsy animal and a plot that rivals those of a Dan Brown on mescaline who has completely forgotten the concepts of pacing and structure.
Visually the film is a suburban banality. For some reason the set designer decided flower patterns suited the picture best, and everything from drapes to kitchen wallpaper is covered in them. When Tommy walks into his house in a shirt that practically matches the wall only my laughter could hide my tears.
The viewer is dragged along the meandering story as if tied to a dying horse and in a series of mundane scenes written to match the triviality of his powers, Tommy slowly comes to realize that though static electricity gives him strength, the real source of his strength is his big heart which, coincidentally, he will also die without.
This important lesson culminates in a heart wrenching (gut wrenching?) scene set in a retirement home, where Tommy turns on the lounge room’s television set with his mind for a group of seniors who are too old and too asleep to do it themselves. Also the remote control is lost or something.
Hell if I know what “odds” he’s overcome or how he’s the “winner” in a film with no antagonist, but I’ll be damned if those senior citizens didn’t perk up when Wheel of Fortune came on. Well done, Tommy DeBolo, well done. The power is no longer out in your heart.
The Fake Movie Critic 