Dan Aykroyd supposedly has an affinity, almost a fetish, for collecting bizarre little gadgets and oddities that don't serve any particular purpose other than just to sit there so he and his friends can goof on them. After seeing this movie, I can believe that, because that pretty much describes this movie to a T. "A good cast wasted" is an understatement; EVERYTHING is wasted here--time, film, you name it. The paper the script was written on would have served a more useful purpose in wrapping fish--which may well be exactly what happened, because my God does this thing stink. The whole movie is one long Rube Goldberg contraption, except that, unlike Goldberg's gizmos, this isn't amusing, funny, clever, or anything else other than painful. I've often wondered after seeing a particularly headache-inducing piece of cinematic bilge if the people who made it had any idea of how bad it was going to be when they were shooting it. After seeing this, I can't believe that anyone who participated in this atrocity didn't know how bad it was going to be BEFORE they shot it. Maybe they figured, "Hey, it's Dan Aykroyd, he'll think up something funny." That's like being told you need brain surgery and that your surgeons are going to be Johnny Knoxville and Tom Green, and figuring, "Well, that's OK, they'll learn brain surgery before the operation."
The only even remotely amusing bits in this movie belong to John Candy as both a cop and his sister (!), and that's due solely to Candy's ability to make a silk purse out of a sow's droppings. Take everybody else's word for it, and avoid this brain-rotting fungus like the plague that it is.
The only even remotely amusing bits in this movie belong to John Candy as both a cop and his sister (!), and that's due solely to Candy's ability to make a silk purse out of a sow's droppings. Take everybody else's word for it, and avoid this brain-rotting fungus like the plague that it is.