Misunderstood Masterpieces: Kazaam
Posted by Will Helm on 11.29.2005
…or, Even Shaq Can’t Make This Movie Disappear
There are just some people that don’t belong in movies. Usually, they aren’t actors. These aberrations stem from the worlds of sports, music, and popular culture. Even though nowadays we’re inundated with various crossover celebrities, the cinematic tradition of having non-actors perform in film is not new. In the very early days of film, Harry Houdini – the world famous illusionist and escape artist – starred in a series of silent movies. It’s always a good thing when the non-actor doesn’t have to talk. Later, the most common non-thespian cast in films is the athlete; in the ‘30s and beyond, football legend Jim Thorpe and Olympic swimmer Johnny Weissmuller were featured in movies.
One of the more prodigious sources of actor/athletes nowadays is the National Basketball Association. Just as the athlete and non-actor in film, however, this is not a new development. Basketball icon Kareem Abdul-Jabbar once faced off against Bruce Lee in Game of Death and then matched wits with some kid whose dad badmouthed the Los Angeles Lakers in Airplane! “Dr. J” Julius Erving – along with Abdul-Jabbar – won over viewers in the 1979 disco-basketball classic The Fish That Saved Pittsburgh. More recently, stars of the parquet have gravitated toward more dramatic fare, in particular Ray Allen, who stunned critics and moviegoers with a surprising performance in 1998’s He Got Game.
Of course, no basketball star – save one . . . wait a few weeks for that – has more cinematic aspirations than towering Miami Heat center Shaquille O’Neal. First cutting his teeth in the college-basketball drama Blue Chips, “Shaq” – as all the cool kids called him – decided to take on Hollywood all by himself. In addition to becoming a championship-caliber basketball player, Shaq also transformed himself into an actor/producer – as well as a rap star . . . but that’s a story for the Music zone. While Shaq would produce and star in the lead role – it’s good to be the producer – of the odd flop of a comic-book film Steel in 1997, Shaq’s first offering as an actor/producer featured Shaq dressed as MC Hammer and coming out of a bottle: 1996’s Kazaam. Currently ranking at #41 on IMDB.com’s Bottom 100, Kazaam was another cinematic failure and unmitigated flop . . . and proof that some people just should not be in movies. Don’t believe me? Read further, dear reader!
In a dilapidated, purple-toned city, sprawl reigns supreme. Somewhere within the city, there is a slow-motion wrecking ball swinging to and fro. In close proximity to the wrecking ball is a creepy fire escape, which leads to a room where someone sells oil lamps. Well, at least there were oil lamps sold there at one time; the proprietor just forgot to take the nifty neon sign with him when he left. Inside the defunct oil-lamp store, there’s someone snoring. Damned squatters. The wrecking ball, slowly swinging outside, causes the building to shake . . . until the wrecking ball finally busts through the wall. The snoring, oddly, ceases, while a lamp falls over and starts screaming as it hurtles to the ground.
Elsewhere in the city, some fat white kid (Francis Capra) walks through some blighted inner-city elementary school hallways while Coolio plays in the background. Because when I think of the plight of the urban student, I think of “Fantastic Voyage.” While the kid evades the janitors and other school administrators, some “toughs” grab him and rough him up in the bathroom, which pretty much involves taking his lunch money and then spraypainting a chalk-line around him for no particular reason. After the terrible scuffle, the kid returns to class where his uncaring teacher gives him detention for his tardiness and other assorted crimes and misdemeanors. Nowadays he’d be sent up the river with leg shackles on.
Later, the kid goes home to probably face the wrath of his HOT CHICK mom (Ally Walker) and it seems that I’m correct in my assumption as the kid’s mom tells him that she’s quite put out by his antics. Ah, yet another latchkey delinquent in training. After a few minutes of bickering and hurt feelings, the mother’s “New Yawker” boyfriend (John Costelloe) shows up. The mom, totally out of the blue, confesses why she’s been on edge that day; she and the boyfriend want to get married and she was thinking of a way to tell the kid. I’m sure yelling at him first is always a good way to win his support. Dr. Spock would be proud. The kid, however, doesn’t quite like the idea so he rebels, quite upsetting the mom and the boyfriend. Ah . . . there’s nothing like familial resentment in my family film.
The kid, not feeling welcome at home, bikes out on the street, where the toughs find him and seek to exact REVENGE for a double-cross earlier in the day. The kid, cagey inner-city youth that he is, escapes to some non-descript alleyways, but the toughs give chase. The kid, seeking shelter and security, runs into – and this is ALWAYS a great choice – a half-demolished building, specifically the same half-demolished building we saw in the very beginning of the film. The toughs, knowing nothing but REVENGE, follow him, but they stop to consider what they’re doing when they watch the kid fall through three floors . . . and, luckily, he lands in a convenient pile of paper in the basement. Whoa . . . that’s like the defenestration of Prague, 1996 version.
Somehow, in that pile of random papers and debris, the kid turns on a boombox lying in the trash. While he tries to hide among the detritus, the boombox gives his location away and the toughs pull him free with evil thoughts on their minds. Before they can enact their nefarious plans, the boombox explodes and Shaq appears out of nowhere! And, to make matters worse, he rhymes for no reason in particular. The toughs, justifiably freaked out, run away, so Shaq corners the solitary kid . . . and the kid runs away as well. Shaq, perhaps lonely, teleports after the kid and then, as he’s supposedly a genie, he tries to conjure a Jaguar at the kid’s request. Sadly, Shaq can’t do it, so he blows himself up – perhaps out of shame. Meanwhile, the toughs find the kid and, this time, they mean business.
Later, the kid returns home, remarkably not dead. The New Yawk boyfriend wants to help and be a good paradigm of a stepfather; Terry O’Quinn would be proud. While the boyfriend attempts to make an emotional connection with the kid, we learn that the kid has an unnatural obsession with science. Yeah, he’ll be blowing up his school in a few years. The boyfriend, perhaps smarter than any character in the history of film, knows that the kid resents him, but all he wants to do is be friends with the kid. Hopefully he doesn’t mean “special” friends, though. That would just drag this film down even further. We don’t need any molestation subplots.
The kid, tired from a day full of beatings and Shaq, goes to sleep and wakes up the next day to an empty house where, on the kitchen table, he finds some divorce papers! Dum-dum-DUM! Out on the street, the kid wanders around aimlessly while, eerily, Shaq stalks him not-so-surreptitiously. Shaq, his cover blown, tries to bribe the kid with some ice cream – NO MOLESTATION, MOVIE! – but the kid, wisely, spurns Shaq’s advances. Then, for some reason, the kid decides to try to go into some building, but some guy yells at him for reasons heretofore unexplained. Not content to take the angry guy’s warnings to heart, the kid breaks into the back door of, it seems, a concert hall . . . where everything is suspiciously written in Arabic. Orientalism? What’s that? Inside the hall, the kid tracks down some cheesy guy (James Acheson) who sends the kid away, but not before Shaq curses him in some unspecified foreign language. Unfortunately for Shaq, he may have spoken too soon as we learn that the guy is none other than the kid’s biological father!
After being spurned by his father and stalked by Shaq, the kid goes to what appears to be a secret laboratory in an old, abandoned warehouse. Great . . . he’s a villainous genius. Next thing you know he’ll be breeding a race of supermen . . . he’s already got Steel alongside of him. Speaking of Shaq, he shows up uninvited to ask about the kid’s father. Well isn’t he little Mr. Curious. If you ask me, that seems just a bit creepy. The kid, once again freaked out by Shaq’s seeming obsession with him, tries to escape but Shaq – comically – bikes after him . . . and then he makes the bike start flying. I wonder if Stephen Spielberg has ever seen this film; that looks awfully familiar. The kid, amazed by Shaq’s magical flying bicycle, starts to believe, so he makes a wish and then Shaq makes it start raining burgers, burritos, French fries, and candy bars . . . and lots of Pepsi. Hmm . . . I wonder who Shaq had an endorsement contract with at the time. The kid, amazed and horrified, survives the deluge of junk food and then reigns over his kingdom; meanwhile, I cower in horror at such a lame wish.
The kid, now used to Shaq’s awesome powers – which, sadly, don’t include foul shots – wishes for his parents to get back together, but Shaq saddens the kid by saying that he can’t do that. Wow; he’s a terrible genie. The kid, now disappointed with Shaq’s inability to do what he really wants, makes Shaq his indentured servant and forces him to dress like a mid-‘90s fashion victim. Shaq, as a measure of REVENGE, ties the kid’s shoelaces together, but he doesn’t have much time to gloat as his shorts fall down while he crosses the street. You’d think a genie would have a little more dignity, but you’d be wrong.
The next day – I hope; this movie does have a problem with timeframes, like so many others – the kid goes back to the concert hall. While he looks for his father, Shaq plays with the soundboard until a slimy henchman threatens him with a cigarette. No, really. While the kid wanders around – he seems to do that a lot – his father introduces Da Brat; after Da Brat’s guest appearance finishes, the kid shows up at the party and confesses his true identity. The kid’s father, amazed at his son’s presence and – probably – his audacity, has an immediate epiphany and claims his son as his own . . . after eleven years or so. No one can call him an absentee father . . . anymore. After pleasantries are exchanged and the father dotes on his son, Shaq shows up disguised as a pizza delivery guy to break up the party.
Later, the kid goes home and his mom, now the less kind of the two parents, grounds him. She then attempts an impromptu intervention and tells the kid that she now wants him to do chores and get his act together. The kid, meanwhile, still resents the boyfriend, so this is really getting nowhere. The kid heads to his room but his mom confronts him and pushes him into the corner. The kid then confides in her the recent reason for his recalcitrance: she lied to him about his father’s whereabouts. Gee . . . she’s not winning any “Mother of the Year” points here, is she? The mother, her ruse now discovered, tries to make a case for the boyfriend, but it’s all for naught as the kid is having none of it.
Back in the kid’s room, the kid freaks out and has a chat with Shaq – who has very, very bad fashion sense. The kid, meanwhile, is amazingly annoying, as he has an inimitable proclivity for whining and petulance. Wow . . . are there any likable characters in this movie? The kid, supposedly, wants to go to a concert, so Shaq obliges – or, at least, I think he does – and they go off to the concert hall to take in a terrible mid-‘90s hip-hop chick trio. Ugh. Just ugh. And perhaps to make the film more disturbing, one of the hip-hop chicks calls out Shaq . . . and he starts rapping! Then, all of a sudden, he produces his boombox, which he causes to shoot sparks all over the crowd. Luckily, none of the audience bursts into flames, but the creepy Middle Eastern club owner (Marshall Manesh) is intrigued by Shaq’s performance and stage presence. Although, in all honesty, it’s hard not to have stage presence when you’re seven feet tall. Unless you’re Shawn Bradley.
While Shaq lays down a beat on the floor, the kid tracks down his father, who’s threatening some nerd in the bowels of the building. The father, blinded by rage, throws the kid out of the club. Meanwhile, the creepy Middle Eastern guy wants Shaq under contract and then he mumbles something unintelligible to the pummeled nerd. Outside the concert hall, the toughs – who just have a knack for showing up out of nowhere – find the kid and, once more, rough him up. Inside the club, the creepy Middle Eastern guy – looking to get into Shaq’s good graces – pimps out his number one girl for Shaq, because he wants to have a little chat with the big man. Accompanying said chat, the creepy Middle Eastern guy feeds Shaq some goat eyes while they talk in the back of a limousine. Yum!
That night – or later that night – the toughs and the kid, perhaps looking for a measure of REVENGE against his father, break into the back of the club. Once there, they assault the nerd and then steal some mysterious item from a steel briefcase the nerd was carrying. Before they can be trapped inside the club, however, the toughs escape with the booty and the kid hides under the concrete loading dock. The kid, his newfound life of crime beginning with success, returns home to find his HOT CHICK mom sleeping on the couch. The kid, like any good perp, sneaks in and heads off to bed. The next morning, Shaq, lying in bed next to the kid – umm . . . yuck – tries to twist the kid’s head off – the one on his shoulders, perverts – because he’s in love. While the kid mumbles to himself and tries to avoid a very disturbing Shaq, Shaq puts on a gorilla mask and then, after learning that he smells terribly, he showers in the middle of the kid’s bedroom. That can’t be good for his flooring. Shaq, it seems, is elated because, in addition to being in love, he also has a shot at a recording contract . . . and my quite low respect for the music industry falls further.
Later that morning, the kid’s mom calls him down for some breakfast, but he just responds by sitting at the table and smart-talking her. You know, I’m not an advocate of corporal punishment, but it might just be warranted in this case. Before the mom can lay the smack down, however, accountant-dressed Shaq shows up to scare her out of her wits. Oh, great; there go the property values. Or, at least, that’s what she’s thinking. She’s thinking wrong, however, as Shaq introduces himself as the kid’s school-appointed “tutor” . . . and then the mom is bizarrely into him. Well, I guess that’s it for the overly caring boyfriend; she wants some Shaq-lovin’. While the mom prepares more breakfast for Shaq and the kid, Shaq surreptitiously makes slices of French toast fly around the kitchen and attack the kid for no particular reason.
Down on the gritty city streets, an oddly inquisitive Shaq asks the kid about his biological father . . . and then he asks the kid for fashion tips. Umm . . . okay. Instead of answering Shaq’s initial question, the kid asks Shaq what the worst thing he ever did was. Personally, I’d say it was never practicing free throws as a kid, but he says that it was when he destroyed Pompeii. Eh, close enough; he could’ve easily shot into Mount Vesuvius. After learning Shaq’s terrible secret, the kid – without any prompting or coercion – lays down some rhymes. Shaq, much to his credit, declares said rhymes to be “wack” . . . and then he and the kid have a rap-off. Unfortunately for them, us, and all of humanity, their rivalry turns into a full-scale rap duet. Why, God? Why? Even worse, somehow, through the awesome power of the flow, we learn of Shaq’s true origin. Whatever, movie. After the impromptu – and unwarranted – musical number concludes, Shaq and the kid share a tender moment together, where we learn Shaq is a sad genie because he wants a promotion. Lack of upward mobility is always a problem in a career, Shaq.
In school, the toughs – who must have fat-white-kid radar – find the kid and tell him about a sinister little scheme in which they plan to blackmail the kid’s father. It seems that the little treasure they stole off the nerdy guy earlier in the film is actually a master tape of some sort. Because all family films need a hint of a piracy racket. Don’t they know that it’s just Asians and college students responsible for all the piracy in the world? The kid, his faith in his father shaken by the news, goes to see him, but he sees something much more terrible instead: the Middle Eastern guy getting a measure of REVENGE against the father, mainly by having him professionally pummeled. Whoa . . . is it just me or does this have an odd Star Wars vibe to it, like the kid is Luke Skywalker, the creepy Middle Eastern guy is the Emperor, and the father is Darth Mottola?
Anyway, while his father is manhandled by some greasy goons, the kid calls for Shaq, who is, unfortunately, on a date with the creepy Middle Eastern guy’s chick. Shaq, trying to make some time with this fine record-company hooker – I mean “employee” – brags about his upbringing and, specifically, his Baghdad education. Oh no! Shaq’s in league with Saddam Hussein! He’s the weapon of mass destruction . . . on the court. Shaq, meanwhile, seems to just be looking to show the chick his Scud missile but, before he can – and while the chick is off powdering her nose – the kid pops out of Shaq’s champagne glass in an odd visual. I guess Shaq will have to lay off the bubbly from now on. Ugh. It seems that the kid’s sudden appearance is due to his desire to use another wish – although I had thought he had already used two, but I guess I was wrong – and this time it’s for a copy of the master tape to rescue his father with. Aww . . . isn’t that sweet?
Shaq, for reasons unknown and unexplained, teleports the kid to the back room of the club where, instead of granting the kid’s wish, he wants to play psychologist. Dr. Phil would be proud. The kid, more practically minded than our mystical hero, just wants the tape, so Shaq obliges and then teleports him to class . . . just because. This is all just so confusing, honestly. This film has no concept of time whatsoever. Later, the creepy Middle Eastern guy questions the chick about Shaq’s background because, like us, he’s curious as to just how a guy could come from Baghdad with mad rapping skillz. The chick, wonderfully diplomatically, makes some logical sense of Shaq’s origin . . . which is pretty much the only logic found in this film so far.
After school – to which, if you’ll remember, Shaq conveniently teleported the kid to set up this coming scene – the father picks up the kid like any caring parent . . . well, at least he acts like a caring parent. The mother, however, has other ideas, as she witnesses her one-time spouse picking up her son and then runs over to threaten the father with vague promises of litigation. The kid, not having any of his mother’s antics – she did lie to him, after all – goes along with the father, which is all well and good until the father freaks out and starts threatening the kid for the master tape. After seeing what his rage has wrought on his only begotten son, the father – like any abusive parent – comes to his senses and shares a tender moment and the father warns the kid about the dangers of the music business and that, specifically, there are no second chances. Unless your name is Meat Loaf. Or Mariah Carey. Or R. Kelly. OK . . . there are A LOT of second chances. Whatever, Darth Mottola. Anyway, the kid, dejected, hands over the tape and then bikes off . . . hopefully into obscurity.
Meanwhile, the creepy Middle Eastern guy, in the bowels of his evil hideout, watches film of Shaq’s magic . . . which is pretty much a video of him making the duplicate master tape appear out of his mystical boombox. The creepy Middle Eastern guy, curious as to the origins of Shaq’s true power, wants to know about the kid. Huh? I don’t get that connection. Speaking of the kid, he’s hiding out in his secret laboratory while Shaq, genie and emcee, performs at the club. The kid, who must have learned how to teleport himself, suddenly shows up backstage and, as his last wish, he asks for a measure of redemption for his father. Shaq, since he never had a genie promotion, can’t do it . . . but, like any good musical act, he can do an ENCORE! Ah, Shaq; you’ve always got your priorities straight.
The chick, who somehow has become a sympathetic figure – hooker with a heart of gold? You betcha! – wants to help Shaq and the kid resolve their issues. The creepy Middle Eastern guy, however, just wants to make a mint off of Shaq, which he illustrates by – apparently – kissing Shaq’s nipples. No comment. While the creepy Middle Eastern guy showers Shaq with praise and, seemingly, initiates foreplay, his greasy thugs steal Shaq’s boombox. Dum-dum-DUM! Elsewhere, after Shaq takes to the stage once more, the creepy Middle Eastern guy corners the kid – who doesn’t seem to have the brains to leave when he’s not wanted – and threatens him; the kid, meanwhile, outsmarts the creepy Middle Eastern guy’s desire for “all the money in the world.” You know, when you think about it, the kid’s right. Score one for the kid and material philosophy!
The creepy Middle Eastern guy, upset at losing a battle of wits to a snot-nosed punk, tries to strangle the kid; meanwhile, the kid’s father – who had been bound and gagged this whole scene – escapes from his bindings and fights off the greasy thugs! With the creepy Middle Eastern guy now distracted, the father and the kid try to escape; Shaq: still rapping. Personally, I wish I could make him stop. While the father is off doing . . . something, the creepy Middle Eastern guy corners the kid once more and then, in one of those “whoa!” moments, he pushes the kid down an elevator shaft to his doom! Whoa! I didn’t ask for that, movie! After the kid falls to his death, the creepy Middle Eastern guy, with the power of the boombox, summons Shaq; Shaq, still indebted by one wish to the kid, starts to dissipate instead of taking on a new master and then, in a triumphant moment, he wills himself back to corporation. Shaq, motivated by his current master’s death and, unsurprisingly, REVENGE, thwarts the greasy thugs, one of which he electrocutes and – in the ensuing chaos – the building sets on fire because, conveniently, they were fighting in the room where they store flammable materials and power generators.
While his thugs are all dead around him, the creepy Middle Eastern guy – still with the boombox and, by association, the bargaining power – just laughs it off. Shaq, defying the power of the boombox, somehow rolls the creepy Middle Eastern guy into a ball – without killing him – and then he slam dunks him down an incinerator shaft. Wow . . . this movie surely took a turn for the grim in the last five minutes. Thanks, movie! Later, Shaq finds the kid dead at the bottom of the elevator shaft but, remarkably, PERFECTLY UNHARMED! Seriously; he was more wounded when the toughs roughed him up in the beginning of the movie. I think if I fell down an elevator shaft to my death there would be a few compound fractures, or at least a little blood.
Anyway, Shaq, distraught by the death of his master, carries the kid out of the burning building melodramatically and then he regrets forsaking the kid for a rap career. I’d say he’d more regret forsaking basketball for a rap career or, even more so, slam dunking the Middle Eastern guy down an incinerator shaft to his death. What ever happened to due process? Shaq, pained by his guilt, begins to glow – oh no . . . I think I know where this is going – and then THE KID COMES BACK TO LIFE! You have got to be kidding me. Shaq, happy to see his master returned from the dead, makes out with the kid and then he discorporates because he just got his genie promotion! So let me get this straight: the best way to get a promotion in the business of being a genie is to screw up really badly and then break the bounds of your powers – which had been firmly established throughout the movie – to set things right? Whatever, movie. Shaq, now another step up the genie ladder, turns into a sun and then makes the kid float into him, which, in any other universe, would cause the kid to vaporize. I guess Shaq’s made of room-temperature fire; the Tick would be proud.
After Shaq disappears and leaves the kid behind with touching clichés, the fireman boyfriend – talk about waiting a long time to set up this scene; we only find out that he’s a fireman in the first ten minutes of the movie! – finds the kid in the burning wreckage of the building. Instead of throwing him into the fire as punishment for spurning him earlier in the film, the boyfriend heroically brings the kid out to his mother . . . and then she beats him senseless for causing all this trouble. Or not, as the kid reconciles with his mother and then the father, who’s also PERFECTLY UNHARMED, stumbles out and says a few nice things to the mother, the boyfriend, and the kid before being carted off to jail . . . where he’ll probably be anally raped on a regular basis. Darth Mottola is a pretty-boy, after all. The kid, with everything settled, accepts the boyfriend into his life and then, hilariously, he wishes for a cup of hot chocolate, which appears on the ground before him. The kid, knowing what’s up, looks around and he sees Shaq walking down the street . . . being henpecked by the chick! Oh, the hilarity.
Now I’m not one to play with racial politics, but I have to admit there’s something very disconcerting about a film where, if you get right down to it, a fat white kid plays a giant black man’s “master.” There are far too many implications going on there for my tastes. In addition, I don’t really know just whose artistic decision it was to make the principal family in the film white to begin with; for some reason, it just feels wrong. Maybe the filmmakers wanted to avoid the stereotype of the “impoverished black urban family”; perhaps they wanted to make a cross-cultural film that appealed to a greater audience. Far be it from me to second-guess the creative process at work here – even though that’s pretty much what I do every week – but Kazaam could have been done much better. OK . . . no it couldn’t. It’s just a terrible, terrible film and, unsurprisingly, a Misunderstood Masterpiece.
Join me next week as we study the domain of a man who brings peace to white trash families, sexual deviants, and baby-daddies across the country. See you then!
