THE BIG YEAR

Wow. This should have been called The Big Bore.

Despite being headlined by a trio of comedy veterans, this hollow, dull birdwatching flick is woefully uninteresting and, in essence, little more than one long montage sequence that lasts for about an hour and 40 minutes.

For the uninitiated (and, before this movie, I was one), a “Big Year” is a tradition whereby North American ornithologists compete to see how many different avian species they can spot over the course of a single year. And, right from the film’s get-go, that’s what Stu (Steve Martin), Brad (Jack Black) and top-birder Kenny (Owen Wilson) do, each one trying to amass the most feathered finds. Problem is, they set out on their quest almost immediately, so there’s virtually no character development before those characters embark on their odysseys and occasionally cross paths.

Instead, the film unfolds as a series of vignettes more so than a story with a cohesive narrative (even though the whole thing Is narrated by Black’s character). At what feels like breakneck speed, we watch the fellas sprint from one location to the next so they can add to their respective tallys… but that gets mind-numbingly repetitive after about the third or fourth destination. The only difference from city to city is, perhaps, the climate and the wardrobe, but the shtick remains the same: the guys hurry into town, encounter some kind of delay/mishap/snafu, encounter hordes of binoculared-up fellow birders and desperately seek out whichever bird has been rumored in the area.

That’s kind of it, as far as story goes.

Along for the ride are their three love interests (JoBeth Williams, Rashida Jones and Rosamund Pike), who are all relegated to tag-along roles – literally or figuratively, depending on the actress. It really seemed like a waste of talent… rivaled only by the filmmakers giving an even bigger shaft to talented supporting players like Anjelica Huston, Dianne Wiest, Tim Blake Nelson and Kevin Pollak with lame or too-tiny throwaway roles. And why is Jim Parsons (The Big Bang Theory), as a weird blogger who magically appears from time to time, even THERE???

The tone of the film veers from slapstick to manic, and the B roll of the actual birds looks like it was inserted from an Audobon Society documentary. The photos the competitors take are impossibly professional – especially given the ridiculous circumstances under which they’re frequently shot – and the assorted destinations all look weirdly alike. (Yes, I realize it would have been impossible to shoot on location at all the dozens and dozens of places cited in the film, but the Everglades shouldn’t look like Ohio.)

Buried somewhere in this mess is, I think, a message about going after your dreams and being authentic to who you are, even if it seems frivolous, impossible or vain. Unfortunately, it rings false and is drowned out by the squawking, flapping and directionless flight of the rest of the story. Worst of all, the syrupy conclusion is a misfire that winds up more eyeroll-inducing than heartwarming… and I say that as a gal who usually loves saccharine.