Yogi Bear Now showing at Quality 16, Rave, Brighton Review by Corey Hall of the Metro Times Grade: D+

There are two types of people likely to read a review of Yogi Bear, compliant parents curious what sort of mess they're getting themselves into, and sadists who revel in reading about a film critic's personal agony. To the latter let me say, I wouldn't give you the satisfaction, and anyway I've endured far greater Hollywood horrors and bounced right back for more (I'm looking at you Fat Albert). To the former, well, I didn't tell you to have kids in the first place, but it is my duty to report that Yogi Bear is a stupefying, butt-shifting exercise in extreme patience, but is not quite as torturous as many of its wretched, soulless, kiddie matinee peers.

This is not in any way to describe the film as objectively "good," it's far from it, but to damn the whole endeavor with the faintest of praise, it at least has the decency to keep the fart jokes to a minimum. Unlike the heinous Alvin and the Chipmunks revival, and turning the other cheek to the brief abuse of "Baby's Got Back," Yogi Bear is largely free of the tired, postmodern, pop-culture, self-referential smugness that has tainted kid flicks since Shrek. Mostly this one sticks to the classic formula, with an ursine rascal and his bowtie-sporting pal scheming to snatch up tourists' picnic baskets, under the watchful-but-friendly eye of the local park ranger.

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