Okay, here's the deal. I had absolutely no intention of going to see 101 Dalmatians. Me and Disney live-action films have a checkered past. I'm still trying to choke my way through those "Kurt Russell-in-college" things. I do confess to having many a sprint down Puberty Road with The Parent Trap twins, however. Those little summer camp uniforms...whew!

But, anyway, I broke one of the Cardinal Rules of Movie Going, and went with six other people to the local dodecaplex. Well, a brawl broke out over what film to see. The whining vegetarian delegation was hard and fast for the latest tear-jerky chick flick. The "confident flesh-eaters" of the group were all for the new Star Trek space opera. After much wailing and gnashing of teeth, a compromise, of sorts, was reached. We would do the new Streisand Ego-thon or the Live Action Retread of an Animated Classic.

The Doctor made it very clear before the voting that, should Her Barbra-ness win the election, there would be a stink raised unlike any stink since stank has stunk. Rumors of Sno-Cap hailstorms and profane vocalizations every time Barbra showed her fingernails turned the tide, and the cute doggies won in a 5-1 split decision. Bow wow wow.

For what it's worth, I pretty much dug 101 Dalmatians. I was not particularly tickled by the casting of the Rich Man's Judge Reinhold, Jeff Daniels, though. As usual, Daniels runs the emotional gamut from A to B. You get Jeff smiling a silly little "Aw shucks" grin, and you get Jeff loud. That's it. He's still the same old Jeff here, wooden as a hobby horse's privates and likeable in a glossy sort of way. His alternate, Joely Richardson, is as Sunbeam and Miracle Whip as her screen-husband. Smile, sniffle, sigh lovingly every now and then. Pretty to look at, (in a British kind o' way) but exposing as much acting talent as a Paris fashion show.

What made the first fifty minutes of this thing watchable was Glenn Close. My God in heaven above, where on earth did she come from?!? She has never been boring to watch, but she comes from that annoying school of internalized acting, where all of the characterization is in her mind, and you really have to study a film to realize how wonderful she is. Well, guys and dolls, there's enough Glenn for everybody in this thing.

There was a time when I thought the best cartoon character brought to life was Jack Nicholson's Joker in Batman. I ain't gonna take anything away from the Jackster, but, LakerBoy, you've got competition from Ms. Close. This Cruella DeVil is a masterpiece on mag wheels. Every eyebrow twitch, every flared nostril, every bird-jerky move of the head. She was a magnification of the animated Cruella with laser scopes. It's doubtful the Academy would ever pay attention to her performance, especially due to the G-rated fare, but, if they were to give an award for Gorging on Screenplay like a Hollywood Pac-Man, by God, she'd gobble it up! (Let's start the Oscar buzz now, and maybe through sheer will power we'll get her the statuette she's deserved since Garp.)

Earlier, I mentioned a specific time of enjoyment. Fifty minutes. At the fifty minute mark, this film quit being a Disney film and spun out of orbit and crash landed on Planet Culkin.

I know, I know. John Hughes didn't direct the movie, he only wrote the script. Well, if you believe this Power Monger sat back and watched from afar, I present the case of Poltergeist. This little ghost story was directed by Tobe Hooper and produced by Steven Speilberg. Ol' Steve was busy directing E.T. at the time, so he couldn't have bothered the Chainsaw Massacre wunderkind, right? Watch the movie. It's obvious which orders came from Colonel Bloodbath and which came from General Box Office.

The John Hughes directives start to fly when the puppies are about to be rescued from their collective fate. Suddenly, and without warning, the two puppy snatchers become Pesci and Stern on R & R from the set of Home Alone 3. Crap falling on their heads, assorted pratfalls involving ice, electricity burns to the pubic realms. I mean, damn, is there no other formula for a Hughes comedy than pseudo-amusing vicious slapstick? I assume that, if one were to find a way to comically dismember a human being, end the scene with a cute three-note tuba solo, you'd have yucks a'plenty for the Baby's Day Out demographic! There was absolutely no need for this bullhockey, especially in a Disney film.

One can only hope for the day that John Hughes takes a writing class and stays through commencement. Until now, he always seems to miss the last two weeks, when they teach how to end a screenplay. We build, we build, we build, then we become witnesses to a ten-minute tribute to It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World. Three or four final minutes for a cutesy wrap-up, and there you have it. John Hughes has squirted out another masterpiece!

Go see 101 Dalmatians, and just brace yourself for the last act of Curly Sue Meets Babe. Glenn Close is incredible, and the adult dogs are trained to do things that many humans still can't do, which is always fun to see. If you have to, get up and go to the lobby when you see the first Joe Pesci stunt. Play an arcade game or two, and know that you saw 3/4 of a good film.