As a school holiday treat, my five-year-old and I went to see The Smurfs at the local cinema.
It might have been a treat for her, but it was 102 minutes of sheer, unadulterated hell for me. It was, without question, the worst children’s movie I have ever seen, and I’m a veteran of a few. I ate a 500g box of Malteesers to dull the pain. It didn’t work.
The Smurfs makes Alvin And The Chipmunks, The Squeakquel look like Citizen Kane.
Why? Let me count the ways.
Is it the use of the word ‘smurf’ as noun, verb and adjective? For example, ‘That’s smurfalicious!’ or, ‘Let’s go smurfing at the beach,’ or even, ‘I smurf you!’
From a feminist point of view, I’m a little disturbed that Smurfette is the only female smurf in the entire mushroom village. She seems like a sweet girl, but I worry about her lack of female friendship and hope like hell she’s not solely responsible for laundering all those little white hats.
Then there’s the song, ‘La la la la la la. Sing a happy song. La la la la la la. Smurf the whole day long.’ Quite frankly, I’m surprised the UN hasn’t mentioned the Smurf Song in its convention against torture.
Without wanting to spoil the plot (impossible because there is none), I’ll just let you know at the end of the movie, it’s hugs all round. Everyone smurfs everyone. Except the bad guy, who gets royally smurfed.