A few days ago I tried to share with the world my respect and admiration for Dennis Quaid, but for reasons I don’t fully understand it swiftly turned into an ugly rant against Mary Jane Watson from the Spider-Man movies. Well you’ll be pleased to know I’ve got that out of my system and I find myself in a much happier place. Quaidland.
“The Quaid”, as I expect he likes to be known, is a legendary actor of great likeability, vast talent and cheeky dimples. Sadly it’s been his misfortune to appear in some utter bum chutney over the years. I don’t know why this is; perhaps his agent is a mallard or a wombat or some other creature incapable of identifying a good script.
Part of The Quaid’s problem is that he’s very similar to Harrison Ford in appearance and demeanour, and he had the hard cheese to be making his name in the 1980s, a decade which will probably one day be rebranded as ‘the Harrison Fordies’ due to his scruffy-but-lovable-hero-based dominance of the box office.
Incidentally, I was in a restaurant once when I overheard this conversation between some middle-aged types at a nearby table:
“We watched Air Force One yesterday”
“Who’s in that?”
“Harrison Ford, I think”
“You mean, Harrison Ford Fiesta!”
“HA HA HA HA HA!!! Yes, Harrison Ford Fiesta!”
I had to be physically restrained from going over and replacing all of their eyeballs with pickled onions.
So The Quaid had to pick up the scraps Harrison Ford left behind, which was a shame because he might have made a good Jack Ryan in Patriot Games, and he could have done something with Regarding Henry and Working Girl that didn’t make them the movie equivalent of a glass of cod liver oil and raw eggs. Had he been in Frantic he may even have been able to give the impression of being awake.
Fortunately, The Quaid has brought us some gems over the years. InnerSpace is a groovy sci-fi adventure romp; Dreamscape is a cathedral of bonkersness about entering and manipulating people’s dreams, and Frequency is a heartwarming slice of cheesecake about a dead bloke talking to his son, across time, through a knackered radio. Less fortunately, American Dreamz, in which The Quaid finally gets to play the President, is quite literally one of the worst films ever made, and Vantage Point is as predictable and annoying as a Coldplay album.
What’s important, though, is that The Quaid is legend in all these films. He’s in his fifties now and he’s always been stuck at the border patrol of Megastardomland, frantically waving his passport and begging to be let in, so it’s time he found something truly brilliant to show how skill he is. Sadly everyone in the civilized world can see that his next two films, GI Joe: The Rise Of The Cobra and Pandorum will suck bowling balls through a straw, so it looks like we’ll have to wait a bit longer.
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