‘Hitchhiker’s Guide’ mindlessly panders to fans

In “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,” author Douglas Adams’ freewheeling style is highly personable as it describes wacky, improbable situations and pushes the boundaries of common sense in spectacular ways that can rarely be found in the modern literary world.

However, when placed into the wholly different realm, the silver screen, the regular intervals into the absurd become commonplace, and dare I say, conventional. The fact may remain that it is more fun to read about a depressed android than it is to watch one; the cinematic translation of Adams’ book, “Hitchhiker’s Guide,” sinks by the weight of this fatal flaw.

The plot seems promising enough. Arthur Dent (Martin Freeman) is a humble Englishman who has just found out that his house is scheduled for demolition to make way for a freeway. Oh, and this might also be important: his best friend Ford Prefect (Mos Def) is an alien, and the planet Earth itself is scheduled for demolition under similar circumstances.

No time to save it, though. Arthur’s got to hitch a ride with Ford onboard a passing spaceship, the only problem being that it belongs to the Vogons, the alien race responsible for Earth’s destruction, infamous for their callous indifference (and their awful poetry). The duo will have to find other means across the universe.

Along the way they meet the literally two-faced president of the Galaxy, Zaphod Beeblebrox (Sam Rockwell), the aforementioned depressed android, Marvin (Warwick Davis, voice of Alan Rickman), and Trillian (Zooey Deschanel), the second survivor of Earth and a woman that Arthur happens to know.

And the actors are great: Freeman is the best example of what anyone could possibly ask of an Everyman character; Mos Def manages to be unassuming but, at the same time, the center of attention; and Deschanel makes for a fine romantic lead. Best of all is Rockwell’s Zaphod, the politician whose essence is some unholy combination of poorly dressed swagger and public image, with nothing intelligent to say.

There’s so much to enjoy on the surface: the art direction is top-notch, and the special effects are perhaps the best that any film can offer (an entire scene is animated in yarn).

While that’s all very nice, the film says practically nothing in its two-hour time span. The humor is cutely chaotic (Singing dolphins! Bureaucratic aliens! Thermonuclear missiles turned into potted plants!), but perhaps it is too chaotic. There’s an intelligent plot struggling to get out, but it takes a back seat to self-satisfied wackiness that’s obviously funny, or else you’re an idiot—what’s the matter with you, are you stupid or something? The type of humor here can be likened to shouting the word “pineapple” in a crowded room. It’s random, without precedent and might even result in a chuckle or two, but when it’s over, where does it leave you?

The best indicator of the plot’s failure is Humma Kavula (John Malkovich), Zaphod’s unfortunate opponent in the presidential elections and a new character to the Hitchhiker’s universe. But so what? Malkovich’s part can charitably be called an extended cameo and a plot contrivance, set up as the villain of the picture but given no follow up other than to serve as the catalyst for Act III.

Marvin the Paranoid Android throws out a lot of declarations of “Oh, God, I’m so depressed,” but without much exposure from the script, he comes across as a transparent attempt at fan satisfaction. He says he’s depressed because that’s what Marvin says, obviously.

Of course, maybe that’s the point. Perhaps you need to approach this with the right perspective: namely that you’ll never understand this movie unless you’ve read the Hitchhiker books. It’s the defense the movie seems to take, and it’s ridiculous; to assume an audience needs familiarity with the source material to enjoy this film is snobby, exclusionist and frankly detestable. It essentially wards the unfamiliar away from the original books.

This, unfortunately, is part of a dangerous trend in entertainment, which trumpets faithfulness to pop culture references over actual thought and intelligence. By contrast, I certainly didn’t need to read Frank Miller’s “Sin City” to enjoy Robert Rodriguez’s film version, because everything was provided for right there. “Hitchhiker’s Guide” feels like a loose association of jokey references clumsily cobbled together into a narrative. Right away, non-fans will understand that there are a lot little idioms from the book that they’re missing, and it just won’t add up.

It’s not a matter of misunderstanding Adams’ sense of humor; there’s just nothing here to understand. There’s little that’s funny in it because it’s so preoccupied with pleasing the fans by following the book’s idiosyncrasies to a stringent T, and it doesn’t comprehend that the material might not adapt well to film. Take what you will from the original novels, but what sits on the bookshelf may do well to stay there.