Cliché Clowns - "Million Dollar Baby" & "In Good Company" by, Al Pathy

It is a comment on the state of big movie studio quality that the two best reviewed non-biopics in theaters are cliché ridden. "In Good Company" and "Million Dollar Baby" are fine entertainment elevated by irresistibly likable and talented actors, but ultimately both movies are formulaic and predictable.

Clint Eastwood's "Million Dollar Baby" plays like a female Rocky with a tear-jerker ending grafted on. The movie entertains on the brute strength of Eastwood's and Morgan Freeman's performances and the transcendent Hilary Swank, who lends grace like a young Meryl Streep. But the story? Come on. And the location is the everytown of Hollywood B-movie jokes. Except for the segment of the movie where Swank and Eastwood tour Europe, where presumably women's boxing is ultra-lucrative. Without Eastwood and Co. pummeling us to suspend disbelief, this could be a treacly made-for-television cheese-fest. But even the talented cast can't distract from the ridiculousness of Swank's championship fight, where the champ commits attempted murder on Swank's contradictory tough-girl rube. We felt like we had been transported to the opening scene in "The Last Boy Scout" when a professional football player pulls a gun during a touchdown run. The main difference between "The Last Boy Scout" and "Million Dollar Baby" is that no one talked up the former film as an Oscar contender. The only good part about "Million Dollar Baby" winning an Oscar would be the even further lowering of that sham award.

Meanwhile, "In Good Company", while also entertaining and distracting because of the wattage of a triumvirate of stars -- Topher Grace, Dennis Quaid and the incandescent Scarlett Johansson -- is no better. And, while "Million Dollar Baby" does not contain any messages besides the obvious: boxing is really fucked up; "In Good Company" uses its sap to stick us to the old saw that money is less important than self-knowledge and personal growth. Puh-leeze. Grace carries the whole trite package off with a likeability and self-effacing nature. Quaid is likable just because he is so wizened that the cockiness of his countenance now elicits pity, and Johansson has perfected the big-tits-on-thin-girl-with-husky-voice-and-gorgeous-face-style.

So go see and enjoy these movies like we did. Just don't fall for the hype that they are anything other than guilty pleasures.