Rihanna Is Smurfette, So Why Does Smurfs Still Star James Corden?
Rihanna hasn’t released a full studio album in nearly a decade. Any recording artist, even one as beloved and successful as Ms. Robyn Fenty, must contend with the industry shifts that have taken place during a lengthy period away from the grind. Yet Smurfs, at least nominally an animated vehicle for new Rihanna music, still presents a chilling vision of any given pop star’s uncertain future, where significant time off taken to raise a family can result in situations unbecoming of such a storied reputation. This doesn’t refer to voicing the magically engineered token girl Smurfette, mind, as Rihanna does here but, more horrifying, playing second fiddle to James Corden.
Yes, Smurfs represents a timeless pop-star tradition: the cynically enriching bait-and-switch. For months, posters have promised that Rihanna IS Smurfette, with a bold certitude worthy of Zendaya’s iconic turn as Meechee. Viewers will indeed get some Rihanna Is Smurfette from this brightly colored animated reboot of the classic (?) Belgian comics characters. But she’s there mostly to supplement and cheerlead a series of other characters’ heroes journeys, most prominently if not coherently No Name Smurf (Corden). He’s the only poor soul in Smurf Village without an Seven Dwarfs-style adjective-based naming convention based on their personality and role in the community – you know, like grouchy, brainy, or girl. The movie joins No Name as he reaches the end of the thousands-long list of potential titles that could become “his thing,” as the movie keeps saying, with reckless disregard as to whether it will conjure images of a Smurf penis. Smurfette remains encouraging of No Name throughout his crisis; after all, look at all the benefits she’s reaped from confidently embracing the richness of her own identity as The Girl One.
Corden, perhaps wary of his status as a professional nuisance menacing moviegoers and restaurant employees alike, plays things relatively straight as No Name. No, he doesn’t have a single funny line; yes, his deliveries still manage to layer some smarm atop his supposed earnestness; and no, it doesn’t make much sense to have Corden playing a Smurf without an adjective when so many – Irritant Smurf; Unwanted Singing Smurf; Attention-Starved Smurf – pop instantly to mind. But as unwelcome as Corden is in an ostensible Rihanna vehicle, it’s not particularly his fault that the movie he’s in is so desperate to knock off the DreamWorks Trolls series (presumably as payback for making greater hay from the technicolor vomiting up of ’80s-kids junk culture), in which he also featured. Nor is it Rihanna’s fault for wanting to do a movie her kids could enjoy. Who could have guessed that a simple Smurfs reboot would constitute such an unholy mess?
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