So, it’s just past Christmastime, and there is one forgotten present still lingering under the tree. And in that brightly colored box is … ANOTHER TIM ALLEN MOVIE!

What? Don’t look so down! It could be worse!

Consider that Allen COULD have made yet another Clause movie this Christmas to both delight your children and also to reinvigorate your interest in homicide, like The Santa Clause 20: Don’t Ya Wanna Clause Your Eyes Out?

But LO! Through what I can only assume is the power of prayer, Allen has shed his shiny red suit in a vain attempt to be … oh, I don’t know…

Funny?

Marketable?

Relevant?

I’m guessing all of those things, plus many others. He is a man on a mission! A man looking to follow through on the promise we all saw in him when he was just a lowly comedian. A man who would like – just this once – for your gag reflex not to engage the moment you hear his name.

Because of his holiday movie excesses and his inability to choose a vehicle for his career that does not run on box office poison, it has been so easy for us all to forget the moments in Allen’s career that truly shine, like his infamous standup routines, or the awesome Galaxy Quest, or … um … his persistence in not running a child porn ring? Wouldn’t that have sucked if he did THAT? I mean, WHEW, am I right? Yes, yes, he is to be commended.

But this Christmas, Allen returns with the story of a man looking for a second chance in life after being released from prison. As you may know, this idea sort of mirrors Allen’s own life, as he once spent time in the pokey for cocaine … no word on if he received a little “pokey” from the other inmates, but as Allen’s last name is actually “Dick” … well, you fill in the blanks.

Back to the story. In the process of getting his life back on track, Allen must deal with Vicky, his sister, played by Sigourney Weaver. This time out, Miss Weaver plays Allen’s truth-challenged sister and DOES NOT at any time fight aliens in her underwear. Whether she is as adept at wearing dresses and fighting off the stale cologne of Allen’s comedy, I will leave up to the viewer.

Allen’s character Tommy must also deal with his grandmother, who believes he has been visiting France while he was doing time. After hearing of this, Grandma insists on only speaking French to Tommy (which, by the rules of comedy, he, of course, cannot understand a word of).

Now, I know you are holding your sides, trying not to burst out in mad laughter, so I will give you a moment before I tell you the TRUE gut-buster involving Grandma … When she speaks French to Tommy, SHE WEARS A BERET! Yes, I know! A FUNNY HAT! A comedy without a funny hat is like a Dolph Lundgren movie winning an Oscar: It simply is not done! They’ve thought of everything!

Some of you may be asking yourself, “K.B., why did you pick this movie to review?” Well, I gotta tell ya, I think it’s because some of that leftover Christmas spirit has a hold on me. I could have reviewed a bigger movie with bigger stars, but like any true American, I root for the underdog.

Allen, arguably through his own doing, has been kicked around by the discerning moviegoer for years now. Isn’t it time that he finally redeemed himself and knocked one out of the park? Well, anyway, I thought so.

So, that was my thinking on the subject before I sat down and made an official decision. That was when a chime went off in my head: BONG! So, of course, I grabbed my bong and went to work, wondering what it had to say to me.

Inhaling deeply, I experienced my own sort of “Let’s Go Out to the Lobby” coma for about thirty minutes. (During said coma, I was met by a Flaming Carrot, who introduced me to a Green Pencil Eraser who had agreed to be my friend … I’m not sure if this has any relevance, but I mention it out of academic interest …)

Upon waking, when I was finally able to make out the movie advertisements in the paper I stole from my neighbor, I felt that it was no coincidence that Crazy on the Outside was the first one I could see. I smiled and I whispered to myself, “I will go, Flaming Carrot. Oh, yes. I will go.”

And go I did. I fired up the ’84 Skylark and zoomed toward my local theater in a flash, pleased to see an empty parking lot where I could get a great parking space. Then I was displeased to note it was 4:30 a.m. and they were closed.

However, I had an advantage, as I had dutifully stopped at Circle K for my two microwave burritos, Chiclets, can of Coke, and Zig-Zag papers. Combining my goodies, a short nap, and the KISS ALIVE II cassette stuck in my 8-track, it seemed a very short time till the cinema opened at 10:30.

When it did, I asked for one ticket to Crazy on the Outside and was given the reception I expected: an “ohhhh-kay” from the ticket man, followed by a look of sympathy. Then I marched in and watched the movie.

Now is the part where I rip the film up, right?

NO.

Look, it’s a new year. And maybe, if we try, it will be a kinder year, as well. Here are some of the things I witnessed in the film:

Tim Allen forced to wear a pirate suit, as he can only get a job at Pirate Burger. Hilarity ensues.

Jeanne Tripplehorn as Allen’s parole officer/love interest. This is pretty much a thankless role for the woman you may remember best from her superb acting in HBO’s Big Love. Or at least for her incredible gazongas in Basic Instinct.

In an attempt to play against type, Ray Liotta plays the bad guy. You may remember him best from Goodfellas and not much else, as he is ALWAYS the guy from Goodfellas.

And really, that is all that is noteworthy.

So why bother? I’ll tell ya why.

Tim Allen does not knock it out of the park this time. But damn it, at least he’s trying, and I have not seen him do that for years. I believe that the man who created the whole man/ape comedy shtick still has it in him, and I do not want to become some jaded movie reviewer who leaves his humanity at home.

Allen is passable in this film, and while it may not have many surprises (read: none), it is at least a serviceable romantic comedy that will give a fun, if forgettable, time out on the town with your ladylove. Or some skank you picked up at a strip club. Whatever.