I know. I know. But I really like Kevin James. I guess that's my guilty movie secret. What's not a secret is that I adore film. Like good film. I can toss around terms like noir lighting and French new wave and tracking shot and archetypes and Oscar bait. I've read The Seven Basic Plots and Awake in the Dark. Heck, I've been to Ebert-fest. I have a BFA and I am not afraid to use it. Basically, I adore film. All film.
I think Kevin James is that perfect combo of funny and sweet. Or maybe it's because he kinda looks like my husband. Or maybe it's because his pratfalls are well honed, well-timed, and remind me of prime Laurel and Hardy. But, you know what, it doesn't matter why. I just like him and that's OK.
We all have our Kevin Jameses. Yours might be B monster movies from the 60s or Smokey and the Bandit 3 (I'll grant you 1, even 2, but 3? Seriously, that thing is a mess.). Maybe you love Adam Sandler or you watch Showgirls when no one else is home or maybe you think anything that John Travolta makes on his own is misunderstood genius. And I don't judge you for it. Well, I might. A little. In my head. The same part of the brain that has you judging me for liking Kevin James. These things are not explainable. But they might be hereditary because I took the 7-year-old to see this one and he found it screamingly funny. Here is his review:
"He is so fast! And he runs around and rides these cool scooter things and there are bad guys. And he doesn't kill the bad guys because he is a good guy and has all these cool way of stopping them. And he has a super smart daughter who is really pretty. And Las Vegas looks really shiny but kinda dangerous, so I am glad that Paul Blart and his security people were there to protect everyone. And make me laugh."
Made me laugh too. Don't judge my Kevin James and I won't judge yours. Deal?
