The Cat in The Hat

Sacreligious even by the standards Hollywood insists on applying to children’s literature, the utterly excruciating C**t In The Hat really should motivate the late Dr.Seuss’s estate to take out a barring order against anyone who would dare fuck with his creations – instead, they seem perfectly happy to co-operate with these increasingly wretched enterprises. Following on from Jim Carrey’s thoroughly unamusing efforts in 2000’s The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, the studio has opted for Mike Myers, the only man on earth capable of outdoing Carrey in the hyperactivity stakes – and while it may have seemed a good idea at the time (kids adore Austin Powers) the results are so dire they have to be seen to be believed.
Incompetent beyond description in all areas except that of set design, The Cat in the Hat is unworthy of comparison to any kids’ film of the last ten years, with the singular exception of 1996’s The Stupids, which it resembles in several respects. Myers is the primary culprit, with an insufferable display of desperately forced, clownish ear-to-ear grinning, but it would be thoroughly unfair to blame him entirely for the mess, with no humour or imagination whatsoever applied to the plot. Said plot, of course, concerns a chronically mischievous feline intruder who arrives, unannounced and uninvited, in the house of two unpleasantly spoilt American kids while their mom is out at work, and then proceeds to wreak havoc on the house, in the process appealing to kids’ basest anarchic, destructive impulses.
The only thing about Cat in the Hat that resembles a saving grace is its merciful 82-minute duration, but anyone who has ever enjoyed any of Seuss’ work is duty-bound to steer as wide a berth as humanly possible.