Orange County Has the Comic Juice

By Teddy Durgin
tedfilm@aol.com

There should be no doubt in Tom Hanks' mind that his actor-son, Colin, is indeed his own flesh and blood. Father and son look and sound so much alike that there is no way the first Mrs. Hanks could have fooled around with the milkman or the UPS guy and produced such a near carbon copy of the former Bosom Buddy.

Can anyone say Bachelor Party 2: The New Generation?!

Er, maybe not.

Colin Hanks stars as Shaun Brumder in the new Orange County, a surprisingly funny and endearing comedy from director Jake Kasdan (son of Body Heat and Grand Canyon director Lawrence Kasdan). Shaun is a sensitive teen who dreams of escaping his suburban California trappings and getting accepted into Stanford University. His mother (Catherine O'Hara) is a drunk, his father (uber-ham John Lithgow) is estranged, his brother (Jack Black) is a total stoner, and his friends are all go-nowhere surfer dudes.

Shaun's ultimate goal is a modest one: to write the great American novel. He's already gotten a head start, privately penning a novella about his messed-up family and friends that he shows around to anyone who will read it. But only his supportive girlfriend, Ashley (Schuyler Fisk, Sissy Spacek's daughter in real life) understands him. Only Ashley supports him. As the movie opens, Shaun is concerned that staying in Orange County will cause his creative juices to dry up. His concern turns to outright fear when he learns that Stanford was sent the wrong transcripts and his application for enrollment was summarily rejected.

I'll be honest here. I was kind of dreading this film. Jack Black is not one of my favorite actors, and the commercials for Orange County show the Shallow Hal star prancing and screaming his way through scene after scene in his underwear with a torso so white you could shine the movie on it. But guess what? Kasdan knows exactly how to use Black here! The key is not to OVER-use him.

Orange County ultimately succeeds because it has laughs and because it has heart. The film is really about Shaun learning how to love the people in his life not in spite of their faults and weaknesses, but because of them. It's a simple message, and Orange County is a simple movie. But it's not a dumb one.

Near the end of the film, Shaun finally meets the author (Kevin Kline) who inspired him to become a writer. He tells the boy that the secret to good writing is to love your characters. Kasdan and screenwriter Mike White have clearly followed this golden rule. Both have a lot of love for the people in this movie, and it shows.

Regular readers of my column know that I have only one criteria for recommending or panning a comedy: Did I laugh? I did. Orange County is a funny movie, folks! I'm not going to build it up to be hilarious or anything like that, but it IS funny. Funnier than I thought it would, and certainly funnier than its marketing gives it credit for.

The best moments are mined from the bevy of cameo appearances turned in by recognizable faces. I mentioned Kline earlier, but Orange County has a veritable Gosford Park roster of cameos and surprise appearances. Lily Tomlin hits just the right note as an inept guidance counselor. Ben Stiller appears as an inquisitive firefighter. Chevy Chase shows up for a scene as a high-school teacher infatuated with Brittany Spears. And Harold Ramis (forever Egon in my mind) is an absolute riot as Stanford's director of admissions, who inadvertently drops acid and then proceeds to feel every emotion in the human experience.

My only big gripe with Orange County is the silly way Kasdan reveals some of these cameos. It usually involves Shaun calling out a character's name, or opening a door, or coming around a corner, only to have the big star turn around in an overly dramatic manner. During these cheesy moments, I half-expected Kasdan to run out from behind the camera and exclaim, "HA! There's another of my daddy's friends I got to be in my movie! I rule!"

Come to think of it, probably the only people who are going to really dislike Orange County are the thousands of struggling actors in L.A. and New York who aren't related to big movie stars or directors like Hanks, Spacek, and Kasdan. My advice? Have some fun with the thing. Go as a group, smuggle in some Jim Beam, throw back a few shots, and yell "Screw you! Screw all of you!" to the screen. It'll be therapeutic.

Believe me, I know how you feel. Every so often, I look at my mother and wonder: "Why? Why couldn't you have just spent that one friggin' night with Ebert back in college?! So what if he liked the Twinkies even back then!"

I digress.

Sometimes nepotism works just fine. So it is with Orange County. Hanks, Fisk, and Kasdan are so good together, they do their parents' proud. Orange County proves that, indeed, the fruit doesn't fall far from the tree.

Orange County is rated PG-13 for drug content, language, and sexuality.