This stoner action-comedy is at its best when chilling out, writes Donald Clarke
THIS MOVIE would be, like, really cool to watch when you're high.
Seriously, dude.
This afternoon's third or fourth film from the Judd Apatow conveyer belt is named for a particularly mind-bending strain of marijuana, and its makers will, presumably, not object to receiving the modified praise above. Yet Pineapple Expressmay surprise recreational drug users.
Though the picture does have Ninjas and guns and loud music, it feels closer to an awesomely soothing chillout movie - rainforests and ambient drone - than a rollicking Cheech and Chong flick. All of which is a roundabout way of saying it's pleasing to watch, but it's not really very funny.
The reliably bluff Seth Rogen, also co-writer of the piece, turns up as Dale, an underachieving process server with a worrying dependence on weed. His days are taken up with delivering subpoenas, buying drugs, visiting his teenage girlfriend, smoking drugs, eating pizza and buying more drugs.
Saul, Dale's principal supplier (played with addled, greasy charm by James Franco), has just happened upon a stash of the titular herb and is only too happy to pass on a sack to his client. Later on, our hero witnesses a murder and his discarded roach draws the culprits to Saul's apartment. Cue too much confused running around.
If you haven't yet developed an opinion on the Judd Apatow brand (he produced Knocked Up, Walk Hard, Superbadand a dozen other comedies) then you probably haven't been to the cinema over the past 12 months.
Pineapple Express, which again exhibits the team's inability to write believable female roles, will not win over the unconvinced, but it is certainly funkier and less formulaic than recent misfires such as Drillbit Taylorand Forgetting Sarah Marshall.
It's hard to avoid the suspicion that the film's most conspicuous flaws and attractions are both down to its unexpected director. David Gordon Green has hitherto been known for directing sleepy, poetic, naturalistic dramas such as George Washingtonand All the Real Girls.
Green's easy, loping rhythm is again on display, but, whereas it suits the early smoking-and- chatting sequences quite nicely, it proves woefully inappropriate for the violent chaos of the last act. It's like watching Lethal Weaponshot by Michelangelo Antonioni.
Wow! Hang on a moment. That sounds way cool.
