Among the film's many bewilderments: the sight of genuine comic talents such as Galifiniakis and Arnett (in the flesh), wrangling with material so beneath them as to be subterranean, while Favreau and Rockwell, doing voice work as rodents, mouth lines that appear to have been cobbled Mad Libslike from a master list of creaky catchphrases ("Don't try this at home," "Mess with the bull, you get the horns") and movie quotes from age-inappropriate sources such as Die Hard and Scarface. My second mistake: I should have pledged to start this new open-hearts policy in another 89 minutes, which is how long it takes to weather this technically competent if utterly artless family film from überproducer Jerry Bruckheimer. The adolescent ticket-taker at Monday's matinee told me I have really pretty hair, and I very nearly fell over – how often, really, are people kind without provocation or generous without hope of reward? I was a little bit shamed, actually, and I decided I was going to be a better person, starting right then and there – starting, in fact, with G-Force, a movie I had only an hour before referred to, sight unseen, as "that goddamn gerbil spy movie." My first mistake: G-Force stars guinea pigs, not gerbils.
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