National Treasure: Book of Secrets

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By Mark Ramsey | 2007/12/28

Some secrets, like whatever lurks under the faux sea otter Nicolas Cage calls hair, are best kept hidden.

And that has never been truer than for National Treasure: Book of Secrets, a movie that suggests the movers and shakers of American history spent more time moving treasure and shaking obscure and cryptic clues than in making actual history.

Yes, it’s the first ever Disney movie to open with a Presidential assassination! Old Walt’s head must be spinning in its vat of liquid nitrogen!

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It’s just days after the Civil War and Lincoln, along with all logic and any historical verisimilitude, have been killed. Only in the sure and steady hands of producer Jerry Bruckheimer can the Lincoln assassination be so boring that we need to add puzzles and a lost city of gold to it.

Then again, I should have known we were in trouble when the long shot of Mount Rushmore featured the faces of Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln – and Bruckheimer.

Is this the height of arrogance? “None of us could figure out who that fourth face was anyway,” said Bruckheimer. “And the National Park Service wanted the face of Hannah Montana – which would be great for tourism. But Disney was holding out for a giant stone bottle of Coke.”

There are three Academy Award winners in this movie. And I saw all three Oscars at the back of the theater covering their eyes in shame, which is an amazing feat for statuettes with no hands, let alone no eyes.

“We don’t need eyes or hands to smell what’s wafting off that screen,” said Jon Voight’s Oscar, which hasn’t spoken to Angelina Jolie’s Oscar in more than two years.

National Treasure: Book of Secrets is for folks who mistake American history for a dramatic retelling of Wheel of Fortune.

“There’s a map or a clue to a map on the Statue of Liberty!” said Nick. “And a sign reading ‘Nicolas Cage slept here’ over the asses of Lisa Marie Presley and Patricia Arquette!”

Added Voight: “And there’s a mystery wrapped in an enigma encased in a puzzle and symbolized by a clue on the can that sprayed Nic’s hair onto his head.”

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Thanks to National Treasure: Book of Secrets we learn one can take over the technical inner workings of an entire building by taping a cell phone and an iPod to a bathroom stall. And as far as I’m concerned any time a dude enters a stall to do something other than what it was designed for, I’m all for it.

Hey, there at the President’s birthday party, it’s Randy Travis! How did he get in? Were they specifically seeking an artist whose last ten albums were best-of the previous ten albums? Were Glen Campbell and the Smothers Brothers unavailable?

Now our heroes are off to the Library of Congress, which is as close as most of this audience will ever come to a book that isn’t filled with stamps.

Why not just attach a leech to my brain and suck the contents dry?!

National Treasure: Book of Secrets is not a franchise, folks.

It’s a fran-cheese.

Send your hate mail here

More about this movie at AskMen.com

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