Bunch O' Crap

The Bradys stage a coup in Washington

Since airing two hours of absolutely nothing wouldn't do much for Fox's ratings or ad revenue on this first night of Hanukkah, the net's done the next best, by which I mean the next worst, thing: given us The Brady Bunch in the White House, a sorta sequel to 1996's A Very Brady Sequel, itself a sorta movie. Perhaps Gary Cole and Shelley Long needed the cash, as they're the only feature-film cast members to make their return; the kids, among them Christine "Mrs. Ben Stiller" Taylor, long ago wised up and moved out of the home Mike Brady built. Which leaves a cast of half-assed clones to muddle their way through this groaningly laughless made-for-TV movie written by Lloyd Schwartz (son of Brady creator Sherwood, who, though not dead, might consider crawling into a grave so he could start rolling over in it). Lloyd apparently grew up without watching a single episode of his pop's TV show or seeing the first two movies based on the series; that, or he's such a complete nitwit he couldn't tell what the show played for sincerity the movies played for irony, which at least made them tolerable and, occasionally, affable.
Hope Gary Cole and Shelley Long got a Bunch of money for this third, ahem, movie.
Hope Gary Cole and Shelley Long got a Bunch of money for this third, ahem, movie.

Details

Airs November 29 from 7 p.m. to 9 p.m. on Fox

This clunker, in which Mike ends up running the country (don't ask, and I won't tell) with Carol as his worst lady, completely misses the joke running through the first two films; it scantly addresses the issue of how an oblivious family of the 1970s copes with life in mean ol' 2002. Or maybe it does, since I could only stomach 30 minutes before feeling as though there had to be some better way to waste my time. I started to wonder how long it has been since Sam the Butcher slipped Alice some meat. I started to wonder what it might have sounded like when Susan Olsen, the original Cindy, had "thex." I tried to remember if Johnny Bravo was Greg's pseudonym as singer or porn star. This became tiresome after a while, so, like Ann B. Davis, I became a born-again Christian and crucified the advance video Fox sent, in hopes it would get resurrected as a blank tape.

 
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