Blades of Glory

By Matthew Rodgers

Will Ferrell has a formula that, love it or hate it, seems to be working. He has developed a particular style of comedy that is hard to pigeon hole, and even harder to compare with his contemporary’s; Jim Carrey, Ben Stiller. What is obvious though is that even when the offering is below the benchmark set by Anchorman, as is the case with Blades of Glory, Ferrell is still agonisingly funny in whatever guise it’s manifested in. He operates with a controlled enthusiasm and natural improvisation that with other performers of this ilk often results in “over acting” and 2006’s Stranger than Fiction proved there is more in his repertoire than arrogant chauvinists.

Transferring the Talladega vibe from the race track to the skating rink the plots are extremely similar. We have the rival skater, Jimmy MacElroy, played by Napoleon Dynamite’s John Heder, whose introduction in a peacock themed dance routine is a highlight that the character never quite matches for the remainder of the movie. The rival team of Stranz and Fairchild Van Waldenberg (Will Arnett and Amy Poehler), the morally ambiguous patriarchal figure of Craig T. Nelson’s Coach, and finally stumbling onto the ice is the main attraction Chazz Michael Michaels, another Will Ferrell creation to rank a 5.9 alongside the 6.0 of Ricky Bobby and Ron Burgundy.

Beginning with the lower scoring aspects of the movie, those expecting the haphazard sketch based template of Ferrell’s most successful films will be disappointed, Blades is more of a straightforward sports comedy movie with the lease loosening only very slightly for Ferrell to adlib. Unfortunately losing his footing is Will Arnett who excels as G.O.B. Bluth in the cancelled classic Arrested Development TV show but here is asked to do little more than wear some outlandish costumes (superbly created by Julie Weiss) and deliver the films weakest lines. Heder doesn’t fare much better with his effeminate Napoleon shtick becoming very tiresome to a knowing audience.

It’s unsurprising then that the real belly aches come from Ferrell himself; it wouldn’t be spoiling anything to highlight the stand-out moments, mainly because there are so many to choose from; the drunken performance as the evil Wizard of the Gruntels that results in an alcohol fuelled Chazz filling his paper mache head with vomit, and the slowest pursuit in cinematic history during the films climax, both guarantee a pain inducing fit of the giggles. Its credit to him that from a wafer thin, seen-it-all-before premise such humour can be generated.

Additional notable mentions are that this is the most successfully believable homoerotic movie since a couple of cowboys took a trip up a mountain and it has a soundtrack that will have you toe-tapping your way back to the greatest hits section of your collection.

Blades of Glory will not have the re-watchability of the frat packs (Stiller, Wilson, Carrell et al) other quotable comedy efforts but it still pirouettes, axels and balances perfectly on its comedic landing leg to be worthy of at least a silver medal.