Review: Mr. 3000

Rated PG-13 | 104 mins

Mr. 3000 represents one of the few times in which I had to remind myself that the cinema was created, first and foremost, to generate fun. This movie pushes every cliché in the book to the umpteenth level, forcing itself to reach an utterly foreseeable conclusion. Most sensible audience members will find themselves gagging at its average and unoriginal contents. Yes, I may have enjoyed Bernie Mac’s outlandish mannerisms and the passionate way in which director Charles Stone III treated some of the scenes involving the game of baseball in Mr. 3000, but, for the most part, it is a complete and unabashed dud. If this motion picture isn’t a valid reason to boycott mainstream, throwaway cinematic garbage, I don’t know what is.

In Mr. 3000, Mac plays Stan, a retired baseball player who has schemed multiple businesses, over the years, using his 3,000-hit-career as a means of marketing. But, when Stan’s statistics are reevaluated, it is discovered that he was mistakenly credited for three hits. In order to keep his Mr. 3000 nickname alive, he has to come back to the major leagues, now chubby and old, to whack a few more balls and reach a few more bases. A 2,997-hit career seems, frankly, unacceptable. It does, of course, prove harder than he expected. Stan’s former one-night-stand, reporter Mo (Angela Bassett), is added into the mix when she interviews him for an exclusive television special. And, as if the story wasn’t unoriginal enough, the execution is, for the most part, even blander.

The most problematic of all of Mr. 3000’s flaws is that, most of the time, it’s unbearably boring. The few scenes that actually manage to develop a certain amount of exhilaration are those that occur on the baseball diamond, when plays are being made. Nevertheless, had I been watching the latest game in the Padres’ quest for their division’s wildcard on ESPN, I would’ve been happier. That way, experiencing the entirely ho-hum, “romantic”, and “funny” interludes in Mr. 3000 would not have been necessary. Mac and Bassett have a back-and-forth about sex in the movie, for example, that could be compared to the interaction of two random pieces of lint. The entire situation is thoroughly unsurprising, a forgettable part of a completely predictable picture.

With my less-than-approving reaction to Mr. 3000, I feel tempted to never intentionally see a conventional movie again. I suppose the reason I keep shoving out ticket-money for them is because they usually turn out to be pleasant, in addition to disposeable. It’s too bad that this film can rarely boast the former quality, during its tedious 104 minute running length. What’s even more unfortunate is that the public has bought into formula again; Mr. 3000 debuted last weekend in the number two box-office slot, raking in around ten million dollars.

Mac is quite genuine and likable, at times. As he recalled baseball-infused moments from his childhood, I thought of my own, lovingly. But, his performance also carries a wicked half, just as everything else in Mr. 3000 does. I would hope that reading the hundreds of words I have written on it will allow readers to realize that its bad side wins out. I do not feel like ending this review on an overly cheesy note, by saying something along the lines of “Mr. 3000 strikes out,” but I will, however, wrap it up with some simple words of warning. Do. Not. By. Any. Means. See. This. Movie. Unless. You. Are. Seriously. Bored. And. I Mean. Seriously. Bored.