If I say I don’t much care for New Year’s Eve, I risk sounding like a curmudgeon. But I have zero reservations about telling you how much I loathed “New Year’s Eve,” a soul-sucking monument to Hollywood greed and saccharine holiday culture.
Director Garry Marshall’s star-stuffed follow-up to “Valentine’s Day” begins with an unrecognizably dowdy Michelle Pfeiffer being knocked face-first into some garbage bags, and goes downhill from there.
It’s New Year’s Eve in the drabbest-looking Big Apple ever, populated by the least witty and insightful human beings ever. Here is what passes for a high-comedy insult: “You’re a really charming guy. Where do you work, the DMV?” Seth Meyers, for shame.
In one of the film’s supposed “slice of life” storylines, the “SNL” newscaster and Jessica Biel, sporting an oddly squishy baby bump, are a couple hoping to win cash for the first child born in the new year.
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Meanwhile, Hilary Swank frets as head of the Times Square Ball Drop Committee (or something like that); the ball is stuck on its ascent. Her press conference — slow news day? — is broadcast to the gathering mob in the square, which falls silent, as mobs are wont to do.
Pfeiffer, a high-strung secretary, quits her job and hires bike messenger Zac Efron, bro-ing it up alarmingly, to help her realize everything on her life’s to-do list. In one day, for some reason.
Rich boy Josh Duhamel, broken down upstate, desperately searches for a way back. He’s got a date with a mysterious lady from last New Year’s Eve, as well as a speaking gig at an event catered by chef Katherine Heigl, whose ex (Jon Bon Jovi, well-preserved) turns out to be the evening’s musical guest. Will their passion reignite? Does Hector Elizondo always show up in a Marshall film?
Robert De Niro makes an unintentionally hilarious appearance as a cancer-stricken former Vietnam photojournalist who’s not long for this world. “Remember to follow your heart,” he croaks at Halle Berry, the most beautiful nurse in the history of nurses.
There is one small moment, courtesy of Berry, that feels emotionally honest. It’s probably not even as good as I’m remembering, but comparatively it’s Olivier doing Shakespeare.
Sarah Jessica Parker, as mom to Abigail Breslin’s restless teen, is just plain miscast: both her brother and her suitor (last act reveals) seem far too young.
Finally, there are neighbors Ashton Kutcher and Lea Michele, stuck in their loft building’s elevator. This vignette feels like a microcosm of the myth of spending New Year’s in Times Square.
Penned into a small space for eight hours, this duo whiles away the time swapping life stories, falling in love and bursting into song. In real life, time drags, claustrophobia sets in and there’s nowhere to pee.