Cast: Matthew Perry, Elizabeth Hurley, Vincent Pastore, Bruce Campbell, Cedric the Entertainer
Director: Reginald Hudlin
Producer: Dan Halsted
Screenplay: Jay Scherick & David Ronn
Cinematography: Robert Brinkmann
Music: Marcus Miller
U.S. Distributor: Paramount Pictures
Anyone wondering why Viacom's stock is in the crapper needs look no farther than Serving Sara to attain enlightenment. A company that would greenlight a production like this exhibits worse mismanagement than the United States government.
The stench of Freddy Got Fingered hangs thickly in the air of any multiplex showing Serving Sara. On the surface, the two don't appear to have much in common - after all, Tom Green doesn't make even the briefest of appearances here (and we can be thankful for small favors). However, one of Freddy Got Fingered's distinguishing trademarks was the gleeful way in which it embraced animal masturbation. What There's Something about Mary did for hair gel, Freddy Got Fingered did for the concept of lending a helping hand to our four-legged friends. By venturing into similar territory, Serving Sara sets itself up for the obvious and immediate comparison. Let's face it, though - Freddy got there first. Sara's just a Johnny-come-lately (pun intended).
This is the latest motion picture to raise serious issues about the MPAA's credibility when it comes to assigning ratings. Serving Sara is classified as PG-13. In order to achieve that distinction, the film could not show a view of Elizabeth Hurley's breasts (at one point, she flashes them with her back to the camera). However, there is apparently nothing wrong with doing all sorts of unmentionable things to a poor cow. Am I the only one who finds it less offensive to get a frontal view of a topless Elizabeth Hurley than to see Matthew Perry with his arm inserted to the shoulder in a cow's rectum? The logic applied by the MPAA boggles the mind.
Serving Sara is defined by three characteristics. It is as stupid as a decapitated worm. It is as irritating as a mosquito buzzing around one's head. And it is as funny as Schindler's List. The only thing it has going for it is that Elizabeth Hurley runs around in a tight tee-shirt and a short skirt. Still, even a good body can only captivate for so long, and, in the case of something like this, it's not nearly long enough. Aside from Liz during her pre-motherhood period, there's nothing in this film worth even a moment's look - unless you're trying to find a new way to get a cow's attention.
The film has less promise than the dismal-sounding premise projects. Joe Tyler (Perry) is a process server - his job requires him to track down and serve papers to some unlucky victim. In this case, his boss, Ray (Cedric the Entertainer, trying desperately to live up to his name), wants him to serve divorce papers to Sara Moore (Hurley), but, before he can do so, she's tipped off by Joe's rival, Tony (Vincent Pastore, desperate for work since his Big Pussy was sunk in "The Sopranos"). Tony wants to serve Sara himself so he can get the commission. Eventually, Joe and Sara strike a deal - he'll serve divorce papers to her husband, Gordon (Bruce Campbell, with the Ash side of his personality contained), thus allowing her to retain more money in the eventual settlement (it all has to do with what state the petitioner resides in). For that, she will pay him $1 million. But Gordon doesn't want to be served, and Ray is closing in. Meanwhile, after being stuck together on the road for a few days, Joe and Sara fall for one another, although the chemistry between the actors is about as potent as that between Boris Karloff and Elsa Lanchester in The Bride of Frankenstein.
I have tried to come up with reasons why Perry and Hurley would agree to appear in something like this. My guess is that Perry's judgment was, at the time, severely impaired by alcohol and/or drugs. Such an explanation seems entirely reasonable, since he doesn't even do a credible imitation of a competent actor. Hurley, on the other hand, may have been seeking work as a refuge from a messy personal life. She never gets into character (not that there's much there for her to get into) and spends half the time looking like she's not aware that the camera is rolling. For director Reginald Hudlin, I can find no excuse. The blame lies squarely on his shoulders. Based on his prior record (House Party, The Great White Hype), there was no reason to expect he could produce something this unspeakably awful. His previous film, The Ladies' Man, was bad, but not close to this level. Filmmakers have to dig deep to sink this low. Fortunately for all involved, this movie is likely to disappear as quickly as an ice cube thrown into a pot of boiling water.
© 2002 James Berardinelli