Baywatch

Baywatch is a tonal mess of epic proportions. The sheer ineptitude in execution, coupled with the desperation to extract a big budget action/comedy vibe from such a creatively bankrupt project, is almost fascinating enough to warrant a scared straight program for budding producers on how not to kick-start a potential franchise.
Baywatch was greenlit for the obvious goal of cashing in on the “nostalgia show turned into self-parodying R-rated comedy” approach that started with the two 21 Jump Street movies. Along with the recent release of CHiPs, it’s starting to look like a trend. A cynical and shrewd starting point for Baywatch, to be sure, but it could have succeeded in transcending the source material with some ingenuity and coherence, especially since the original show is such an easy target.
Is this supposed to be a modern meta-parody of the Baywatch series? There’s certainly enough satirical real estate in a show that was based entirely on the hypnotic effect of bouncing big boobies in slow motion can have on the average meathead. 21 Jump Street executed the parody elements cleverly, poking as much fun at how pathetic it is to reboot such an old show as a big budget movie as making jokes at the show’s expense. Instead of adopting such a self-aware approach, Baywatch dives into full Zucker-Abrahams-Zucker (or Seltzer and Friedberg, to be more honest) spoof territory. Characters who move in slow-motion while everyone around them exists in normal speed; an aquarium figurine that changes mood depending on the main character’s current predicament; clunky dialogue where the characters practically break the fourth wall to inform us how this silly plot sounds so much like a cheesy TV show: Yes, these jokes are lame and obvious, but they become even more grating when coupled with a movie that honest-to-goodness expects us to take it seriously as a late ’80s-style buddy cop actioner.
Baywatch’s characters and plot are insultingly predictable. Take any random Lethal Weapon rip-off and switch the setting from a police precinct to a lifeguard station. Sure, lifeguards don’t have nearly the authority or the experience to do police work, but that doesn’t stop the writers from having their characters completely abandon their jobs in order to pursue an unnecessarily convoluted drug/real estate conspiracy. All that’s needed to get around that leap of logic is to have 40 percent of the dialogue consist of every non-lifeguard character reminding our protagonists that they’re not cops.