The Pacifier

Blame it on Clint and that orangutan. In the ’70s, he was probably the first slab of macho to domesticate his image by teaming with a costar worthy of a Dean Jones kiddie comedy. From there, it wasn’t such a big leap to Arnold and Kindergarten Cop and now, God help us, The Pacifier, a yawn-by-numbers romper-room dud that is nevertheless shrewd enough to tweak its star, Vin Diesel, for becoming a joke in less time than it took him to become an action hero.

Playing babysitter to a family of brats (he’s a Navy SEAL, in case you were wondering; they’re an assassinated scientist’s children, whom he’s been assigned to protect), Diesel, who looks like Uncle Fester’s frat-house-hooligan son, doesn’t interact with anyone. He just barks orders in that muscle-lipped monotone. You haven’t experienced a disgruntled lunk’s bad timing until you’ve seen a slice of baloney drop onto Vin, who, after a pause of about three hours, croaks out the line ”This is my favorite shirt!” The Pacifier appears to have been a good career move, but even Diesel may live to regret it when he discovers what flubber awaits him.