A Very Brady Sequel (Arlene Sanford, 1996)

Even though they have caused countless calamities (depression, suicide, greed, reality television), surreptitiously encouraged people to murder one another, and carelessly promoted a lifestyle that is unattainable to most of the world's population, the Brady family represented humanity at its most unblemished. I distinctly remember that my underdeveloped child's brain could not fathom as to why my house didn't have a stairway with an open space between each stair. This lack of stair space angered and perplexed me with the fury of an underpaid nudie booth attendant. So it's fitting that first thing I should see as A Very Brady Sequel opens is the iconic staircase that was the manufactured bane of my existence for, oh, let's say, the last two hundred years. It's also fitting that the Brady children and their live-in slave (a pathetic creature whose womanly crevice has obviously not been licked in eons) should be bound to the celebrated staircase with rope after being bested by a con man posing as the Brady girls' long lost father. Fitting because they deserve to suffer for making upstanding citizens envious of something as ridiculous as indoor steps. The torment they go through, while mild compared to the anguish I had to endure, was, in terms of attaining nonsensical retribution via a lightweight movie comedy, completely satisfactory.

According to my sources, a popular rock band called "Led Zeppelin" were so inspired by the Brady staircase, that they wrote a song about it called "Stairway to Heaven."

Letting go of my stair ire for a second, I'd like to comment on the actual film by using depraved language (I've already referred to eating out Alice) and hyperbolic trumpery (two hundred years?) for a change. The Brady family is going through a typical day: Jan is unloved, Mike is giving long-winded advice, Carol's sexy, un-pantsuited legs are as smooth as a raisin who exists in an alternate universe where raisins are smooth, Greg is starting to assert himself, and Marcia is behaving like a condescending bitch.

This gloriously mundane universe is undermined when a corrupting influence arrives at the door in the form of Roy (Tim Matheson), a man claiming to be Carol's dead husband. Infecting the Brady throng almost immediately, this Roy fella is actually looking for an antique horse statue that Brady's have on a table near their famous set of stairs. Apparently worth millions of dollars, the horsey is being cleaned when he arrives, so, in meantime, the impostor proceeds to taint the Brady way of life with his depraved modern values.

The duality between Roy's immorality and the wholesomeness of the Brady's was the second most interesting aspect of A Very Brady Sequel. I mean, the sight of the blandly dressed con man trying to transverse the kitschy realm of this bizarro family was not only fascinating, but it also quite illuminating. The implied incest subplot of Marcia and Greg was definitely number one in terms of being interesting and junk, as a genuine spark develops between the two after they discover they might not be brother and sister.

The only reason they don't act on the sexual desire is because society frowns on this sort of thing. Which is weird because they not really related. Sure, their parents are married, so technically they're brother and sister, but come on, man, what's the harm in letting them fuck? Anyway, the off-kilter chemistry that forms between the stunning Christine Taylor and Christopher Daniel Barnes is strangely scintillating. I say, "strangely," because I don't want to come off as some creepy, incest promoting reprobate.

Clear the way, because I'm about to lavish an obscene amount of praise on the awkward magnificence that is Jennifer Elise Cox as Jan Brady, the undervalued middle child and the main target of Marcia's catty cannon. Possessing a timeless beauty that transcends stuff like shapely discretion and spastic edification, and gifted with the comedic chops of a seasoned professional, Miss Elise Cox is the type of actress who makes the hordes of untalented charlatans infecting Hollywood's red carpets pregnant with fear through her sheer artistry when it comes to delivering the funny. Creating a sympathetic portrayal of a girl being gradually pushed to the edge of madness, Jennifer imbues the deeply troubled Jan with a quiet dignity.

The pressure of being popular, attractive, and wanted weigh heavily on the mind of the headgear-wearing little scamp. Which culminates when she decides to invent a boyfriend for herself named George Glass. It's a misguided attempt to placate the penetrating mockery of her raging whore of a sister to be sure, but desperate times call for counterfeit boyfriends. There's a veil of sadness that permeates Jan, but the exuberant way the gorgeous thespian plays her caused many of her more pathetic moments to explode with an unexpected mirthfulness. The scenes where she brings a mannequin of George into a mid-90s style coffee shop, for instance, was an excellent example of this pitiful hilarity. In fact, the other patrons think she's a new kind of performance artist when they see the smouldering vixen in the marmalade jumper desperately trying to reattach George's severed head.

Now, I must admit, I've been grappling with the lustful thoughts I've been having about Jan as of late, and trying to decide whether or not if they're repugnant, rational, or just plain kooky. My imaginary therapist tells me that it's perfectly acceptable to be attracted to a 25 year-old woman playing a slightly demented teenager. Which is a relief, because they amount of envy I felt towards Tim Matheson's trouser-covered lap (he gets to have Jan sit on it multiple times) was off the charts in terms of stupidity. Seriously, I wanted to be his lap like you wouldn't believe. But only when Jan is sitting on it; I don't want to give the impression that I want to be Tim Matheson's cock from five o'clock in the morning till ten o'clock at night.

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