The Olsen Twins: Double Your Pleasure

By G. Rollo Begley | Tuesday, June 1, 2004

As our more loyal readers are no doubt aware, the helm of The Dartmouth Review was recently handed over to a new editor: Joe Rago is now picking up where Messrs. Gorsche and Ramsay left off. Shortly after the changeover occurred, I had a long conversation with Mr. Rago regarding his vision for the paper for the next year; I was intrigued to learn that he is keenly interested in covering cultural events. I was largely unaware of the concept of "culture" and quickly decided that I would be well-served to immerse myself in it in a desperate attempt to please my new boss. In a stroke of what I considered at the time to be remarkably good luck, I found myself later that very day inadvertently eavesdropping on two gentlemen who seemed very excited about a soon-to-be-released film. I promptly decided that it was this that would mark the beginning of my cultural education.

— Not Photo-Shopped. —

These, then, are the circumstances that led to the EMC Lebanon 6 movie theater showing New York Minute to an audience that consisted entirely of me. I do not mean to suggest here that the theater intentionally offered me a private screening, but merely that this occurred nonetheless. I shall leave the reader to imagine my embarrassment.

On the chance that my good reader is in a state of innocence or confusion stemming from ignorance of New York Minute, I shall briefly explain. The film is the latest release featuring the teenaged sensations Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen, a pair of twins perhaps best known for their joint portrayal of 'Michelle' on the late-1980s-early-1990s sitcom Full House. They went on to star in a series of straight-to-video movies, and now for their more recent reputation as the quintessential "San Quentin Quail" (the twins' eighteenth birthday is the same day as Dartmouth's graduation).

However, the Olsen twins (an appellation they despise) are significantly more than that. They are a minor empire unto themselves, with their own lines of self-titled cosmetics, apparel, and various other items that are beyond the comprehension level of your humble reviewer (note, for example, "The Mary-Kate-and-Ashley Bradiac Braider"). Not to mention, of course, film and video-game production. Their Dualstar Entertainment flagship employs fifty people, puts out forty-seven consumer lines and is worth roughly $1 billion. The girls have forty-one films and television shows to their names, in addition to fourteen as producers, and estimates put their net worth at $150 million—each. They were recently ranked among Hollywood Reporter's hundred most powerful women in the world (of entertainment).

In this context, New York Minute surely must be viewed as another conquest for the Olsen empire, and not as actual cinematic work representing youth culture. Perhaps my cultural education should have began elsewhere, as the latter interpretation is far too depressing—if this represents our culture these days, then civilization is finished. New York Minute is a dreadful film, immature and inane. Viewed as a marketing scheme, it's downright scary. It seems as though the mavens of Hollywood are taking the lessons learned pitching goods to adults and by degrees applying them to the pre-teen demographic. Needless to say: Sex sells.

No longer the wholesome Full House schoolgirls, the Olsen twins now insert hypersexual overtones into their oeuvres. As Mary-Kate recently told the New York Post: "As people grow, they change. We're not here to be sexy, but we're here to be who we are"—whatever that means. The film consists largely of what I call soft-core soft-core porn. By the time the opening credits have scrolled by, Mary-Kate (or maybe Ashley, I honestly couldn't tell the difference) has already appeared naked twice, for no reason. Then, in the opening scene, one of the interchangeable twins attempts to seduce a conductor to avoid purchasing a train ticket. Later, the two tear through Times Square in nothing more than skimpy bath-towels. I can't say it was entirely unwelcome, but still.

The romp and frolic is scarcely rationalized by a bare-bones plot. One of the twins (don't pretend you care which one) is an OCD overachiever who must travel to New York to deliver a speech on economics that will hopefully secure her a big scholarship to Oxford University (which, as is mentioned in passing, is in London). The other twin is an aspiring punk-rocker/aspiring truant who must skip school in order to slip her demo tape to some record executives during a music-video shoot. They must to accomplish these undertakings while avoiding a maniacal truant officer and some colorful Chinese gangsters (don't ask)—not to mention the hilarious pitfalls of Murphy's Law. Allow me to spoil the film for you. The trials they go through end up bringing them closer together. They both land cute guys. The rocker gets her record deal, and the overachiever gets her scholarship (despite failing to deliver her dissertation, thank God). All of it came as a surprise to all—which, of course, was just me.

Then there are the romantic interests. Each girl randomly runs into a boy, randomly falls instantaneously in love-lust with him, randomly loses him, randomly runs into him again, and ends up dating him—a process that somehow manages to take place entirely through video montage and that occurs without contributing to the development of their characters. Since the insignificant others play no role in character development (on the other hand, neither does the plot), one can only assume that their inclusion in the screenplay was intended only so that each of the girls would have a body with whom to make out, et cetera.

The selection of other non-Olsen characters is similarly limited. Eugene Levy plays a truant officer who dreams of being a police officer, and his performance is probably the best of a bad lot, although his character was too absurd for even him to pull off. Andy Richter plays the only other particularly significant character—a villain whose defining characteristics can be succinctly stated: He is fat and white and speaks with a heavy Oriental accent. I am not making this last part up.

As if the plot weren't enough for the audience member to walk out (I could have single-handedly cleared the theater), one is constantly struck by the gratuitous product placement. While I'm rarely petty enough to complain about such mundane matters, in this instance it is deserved. The rocker Olsen speaks constantly and breathlessly of the punk band whose video shoot she has to attend. I refuse to mention the name in these pages; eventually the film degenerates into a music video for said band—surprise! Then there is the ever-present can of 'Red Bull,' to be found irrelevantly in scenarios in which an "energy drink" is entirely unnecessary. But hey, it's the go-go-go lifestyle of an Olsen twin. More to the point, there are the girls—they're products themselves, really, more commodity than flesh-and-blood. They're the most prominently placed products in this vehicle, and Olsen futures, I'm told, have really taken off.

The girls looked perfect throughout the entire movie, of course—even when, having lost their clothes and shoes and money, they must slog two miles through a fetid sewer tunnel. It was a madcap situation, but their Mary-Kate-and-Ashley eyeliner never smudged, even once. Remarkable, especially considering it costs only $1.94! Hopefully, the twins received more than that for their dignity.

The Olsen Twins: Double Your Pleasure

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