Learning Day: Night at the Creation Museum (Patreon)

A parody of aughts Ben Stiller is born dead. Good Stiller flicks were broad, overacted pastiches. Bad Stiller flicks were broad, overacted pastiches. His new work’s an easier target, thanks to that documentary about corporations eating your soul. But Night at the Museum is a doomed prize.

I’m so happy someone tried.

I can’t stay mad at Night at the Creation Museum. After all the dead air, fumbled propaganda, cameos of historic tragedy, and sprinkles of race science, I’m still rooting for it. It has, against its own wishes, two divine minutes. Miracles like that prove Earth is chaotic enough for good surprises too.

Besides, it starts with an apology. Am I made of stone?

The shot recalls lawsuits and ukuleles. Today, it’s an auteur apologizing for his work. After you’ve already clicked on it, or traded money for the DVD. A classic case of churches falling behind mainstream culture. We gave up on apologies years ago.

The hedging has charm:

I’m hooked. Christian cinema (Holywood?) showed sin-troopers warping time to re-kill Christ without a frame of doubt. Director/actor/lost custodian Eric Hovind looks embarrassed here, and he’s shot more scenes in churches than Vivid.

Eric’s also president of Creation Today. And perhaps other traits. Maybe he can tumble, or get through Moonlight without cursing. All that matters: Eric has twice the will and half the talent of most film washouts. His catalog’s deep enough to ruin compound movie night for years.

I am curious what an Ark Encounter is. It sounds like Master Chief’s involved.

“Nice try, fucko. That’s clearly the same movie. You didn’t even change their costumes. Fall on the katana we know you own.”

Good news: if your captives survive Night at the Creation Museum, there’s dessert. Eric resurrected this concept/structure/everything for Night at the Ark Encounter, ignoring a perfectly good Evan Almighty remake. There’s only two of each dinosaur, so it’s a bit slower. We’ll stick to the original.

Night at the Museum opened with a montage of historical figures ready to defy death. Night at the Creation Museum has Cincinnati.

A fine city, full of better museums. But not quite as exciting as Theodore Roosevelt, imperialism’s best mustache. I’m not sure Eric rewatched Night at the Museum before tilting this sinkhole, and that’s golden. You need that confidence to veto anthropology.

The credits thank Eric Hovind, Eric Hovind, and the last copy of Windows Movie Maker. Rest well, soldier. I’ll join you in Valhalla before touching ClipChamp.

Also Answers in Genesis, a Creationist group at war with Flat Earthers. That thought whirlpool almost swallowed my output for months. It’s Alien vs. Also Alien. Luckily, dinosaurs and Predators anchor my attention span.

Then we enter God’s museum. Guess who plays Ben Stiller.

Yes, the character’s name was Larry. But this is secondhand parody. Less about the movie, and more about the trailer. I assumed that faith or cosplay sent Eric to an active tourist trap mid-pandemic. But vanity inches ahead. The longer Night at the Creation Museum goes without a monkey-slapping, the further Eric superspreads confidence.

Eric doesn’t act much like Ben Stiller, or at all. He knows more about carbon dating. While Eric’s separated (divorce is the eighth mortal sin) and wears a jacket, the parallels end there. Instead, Eric’s confused. He doesn’t know where he works, who Jesus is, or what a security guard does.

Eric narrates his lovable befuddlement to his ex-wife, taking medieval dinosaurs in stride.

There’s a slight advertising element.

A hint of promotion.

A plagiarized infomercial.

But first, we need a few riffs on Night at the Museum’s plot. Not enough for a porn parody. But enough to condemn the porn parody. Eric has an inspired exchange with his new manager/shepherd:

It’s hard to focus on the wit: Tim Chaffey, content manager of both Bible day camps, plays himself. And nails the charm of a Creation Museum curator. Eric can’t act, and still drifts circles around Tim. For a moment, I can imagine Eric on late stage SNL until a reporter Googles him.

Then again, they’re the third funniest Tim and Eric. Right behind the mayor and his fraud consultant. Eric does a minute of lifeless prop comedy before nodding off and meeting his Spirit Guide: Tim Chaffey again. Tim’s our Robin Williams, sans mirth, horse, insight, and hair.

Dream Tim shows Eric around the museum he already works in, to pitch the religion he grew up with. Spiritually forgivable, but professionally damned. Eric might reach heaven, but he’ll never make manager. I’m not sure how he can afford the intro’s sports car. I know how the director bought a Camaro, fraud’s his right as president. But an actor should disappear into his role. Or make the Blue Steel face.

Why a dream? In a film where the supernatural is real, active, and the point? Egyptian curses cost money, and most funding went into the Camaro. The car’s very distracting:

Ah, that’s not a sports car. That’s the Creation Museum’s Hall of Human Suffering. Where this movie comes alive.

Tim starts his film-length sermon. It’s a sub-remedial effort. I should have all kinds of hellworthy jokes about it. But he’s ranting beside a photo of 9/11. While Eric does his stillborn Ben Stiller impression, before grayscale 9/11.

And famine.

And the A train.

It’s all I want from film. Some prefer images creating meaning through sequence. Pass. Give me cue card soliloquies in the Hall of Misery. I could smile through a table read of Birth of a Nation if you read it in the Sorrow Chamber. I don’t know why Eric spent a second apologizing for this, when Metropolis doesn’t have one Hell Box.

But Tim does have a point: life wasn’t always this way. In Eden, construction workers swapped Brontosaurus shifts. Children rode pet sauropods in endless B-plots. Green aliens provided underrated variety. And Honeymooners jokes were reborn without the specter of domestic violence. Paradise.

I didn’t hear Tim say it, because his drone can’t compete with the Doom Gallery. But the camera hovers on a sign.

And twenty other signs. Eric’s journey is an elaborate Powerpoint transition. A rare truce between Show and Tell. Maybe the Pain Room proved war isn’t worth it.

The most egregious offender’s the “Monkeys Aren’t Real” display. That’s an unfair summary of their argument, but I’m not reading their whole argument:

Not happening. I can read Genesis myself. Countless people died for and because of that. Save the text adventure.

Hold on. Stop. Delete schtick.

Enhance.

Oh, we’re reading this one.

Art can teach you other perspectives. Today, I learned how it feels when conversations jackknife into “You’re a racist.” Amazing. It’s the gift of joy, and I’m giving it to everyone I can. It’s time for a Dear White People remake with even fewer ideas.

Creationists have the same problem as patriots and fad diets. They forget that propaganda’s for other people. Sure, you can tell other fans of voodoo or Rothbard anything. But tracts are for heretics. Anything else is masturbation, and God hates that. Always ask: “Would someone raised without the Vault of Despair buy this?”

Actually, don’t. We don’t need better propaganda. The war between brownshirts and art school keeps Earth from becoming Warhammer 40k with less hope.

Now, Night at the Museum had some sweet dinosaur action. You watched for that or monkey-slapping. Night at the Creation Museum’s monkeys are liars, so dinosaurs are on double duty.

A good dinosaur can pull an audience through anything. Otherwise Jurassic World: Tax Haven would have an eight-digit body count. Hopefully, Eric understands that. T-Rex effects should be the reason he didn’t get a Charger instead. I almost wrote Tesla, but I’m guessing climate change isn’t on Eric’s mind.

Creation Today has a chance here. Sure, knowing it’s a dream undermines it on every level. But velociraptors can chew through that.

No. No one gives a shit. Dinosaur time. Zip codes shape faith more than anything you, me, Ken Hamm, Richard Dawkins, Reddit, Slaanesh, tremolo picking, the Pope, or the cardinals plotting the Pope’s death will ever say or do. Apply yourselves. Dinosaur time.

Perfect.

Night at the Creation Museum just had to believe. The psychotic confidence behind the Torment Nook is more than enough for a Budgetsaur. It’s majestic. It walks how the Hindenburg flew. Each blurry wobble makes me doubt dinosaurs existed at all. They try to keep it offscreen, but the game’s already over.

As if shaky cam could ever hide a star. Science talks big when it cures plagues or reaches space. Where’s its version of FuckUp-Rex? None of the lizards in the Smithsonian match up. Faith forged a suit made of smiles, just a few years from the secular end of the world. Sure, there’s ten minutes of gift shop plugs after this. But I’ve already forgotten them.

An important thinker would be angry, so thank God that’s not me. I’m all in. It’s possible to watch this chase without laughing. And it’s possible to sing the clean version of “24’s.” But do your partners roll, or something closer to heart? Everyone gets banned from a karaoke bar eventually.

Thank you, Tim and Eric Sane Cosmology Great Job. I needed a diversion from lunatics using Revelations as a strategy guide. Genesis isn’t much better, but it’s much funnier.

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