In any event, the Yugos are one of two things that you will remember about this movie, should you wander across it on a movie channel and for whatever reason are unmotivated to reach for the remote. The other thing you'll remember? The title refers to Bette Midler dunking her Yugo into Lake Verplanck, or whatever it is called.
You won't cry for Bette Midler. She dies in the opening scene, but via flashback, appears throughout the movie, always so obnoxious that her character could only exist in a failed comedy. She's so obnoxious, in fact, that her own husband Phil (William Fitchtner) is glad she's dead, particularly since he's having an affair with waitress Jamie Lee Curtis and can now spend more quality time with her. Playing "Wheel of Fortune." Don't ask.
But Phil is hardly the only suspect. Bobby (Casey Affleck) seems like an underwhelmingly nice guy, but he is in business with Midler's incompetent loser son, Jeff (Marcus Thomas). Phil and Jeff try to pin the murder on Bobby, who took more abuse from Midler than anyone else. Except possibly Phil, who after all had to live with her.
But Bobby has one ace in the hole. He is engaged to Neve Campbell, who, in this movie at least, is the daughter of Danny DeVito. Well, maybe she was adopted. But that's not important. What is important is that DeVito is the police commissioner. He wants to see justice done with Midler's murder. Justice doesn't include imprisoning his future son-in-law.
One cameo of interest is Will Ferrell as a funeral parlor director. He's over the top, what else?
How others will see it. This is not a bad comedy. It knocks on the door of mediocrity. The infrequent moment is funny, such as any depicted theory of how Jeff loses his hand, or when butch Kathleen Wilhoite 'consoles' a devastated Neve Campbell. Yes, it's my favorite scene, too.
But while this comedy isn't particularly worse than any starring Mike Myers, it also isn't likely to elicit more than groans from its viewers. Perhaps the difference is that Drowning Mona seems to know it is a failed comedy, while the various Austin Powers movies manage to pull off the false veneer of hipness.
How I felt about it. The lack of self-confidence isn't really the problem, though. The writing is fair enough, as well. The soundtrack has duds, such as justly forgotten long-ago hits by David Dundas and The Pipkins, but that isn't what sinks Drowning Mona (pun intended, I'm so clever).
The problems are the casting and characters. Bobby wouldn't swat a fly, much less rig Midler's car. Not that I blame him. Midler, as mentioned before, is too obnoxious for even a "Saturday Night Live" skit. There are the familiar stereotypes, such as stupid police deputies and lesbian grease monkeys. And who'd believe that Jamie Lee Curtis would have an affair with dorks like Phil and Jeff? I know she has her father's chin, but still. And I've already discussed the genetic improbability of DeVito fathering Campbell. Supermodels don't come from overgrown spiders.