Bedazzled

There was a specific brand of social awkwardness that existed in the year 2000—a pre-smartphone, PalmPilot-carrying, short-sleeved button-down energy that felt both desperate and oddly innocent. In Harold Ramis’s Bedazzled, Brendan Fraser embodies this vibe so completely he practically vibrates with the need to be liked. Watching him as Elliot Richards, a lonely IT guy who is basically the human equivalent of a pop-up ad everyone wants to close, is a reminder of a time when "geek" wasn't a billion-dollar brand but a social death sentence.

I rewatched this recently while drinking a lukewarm Diet Coke that had lost its fizz twenty minutes prior, which felt spiritually aligned with Elliot’s existence. It’s a film that sits comfortably in that turn-of-the-millennium sweet spot: high-concept, glossy, slightly cynical, but ultimately big-hearted. It’s the kind of movie that lived its best life on DVD, where the "special features" menu was just as exciting as the film itself.

The Devil is in the Wardrobe

The premise is a classic Faustian bargain, remade from the 1967 Peter Cook and Dudley Moore original. Elliot is so desperate for the attention of his co-worker Alison (Frances O'Connor) that he signs his soul over to the Devil. But this isn't a cloven-hoofed monster; it’s Elizabeth Hurley in a rotating gallery of increasingly ridiculous outfits. Elizabeth Hurley doesn't just play the Devil; she plays a cosmic prankster who treats human souls like a bored teenager treats a Sim City save file.

Apparently, Hurley had over 30 costume changes in the film, ranging from a schoolgirl to a police officer, and each one is a masterstroke of Y2K "maximalism." She is clearly having the time of her life, playing off Fraser’s frantic energy with a cool, predatory detachment. The chemistry isn't romantic—it’s more like a cat playing with a very confused, very sweaty mouse.

The episodic nature of the wishes allows the film to function as a series of sketches. We see Elliot as a 7-foot basketball star, a sophisticated drug lord, and a sensitive poet. While some of these segments age better than others, they all rely on Brendan Fraser’s incredible physical commitment. Before he was an Oscar winner for The Whale, he was the undisputed king of the "earnest goofball," and he treats even the most absurd scenarios with a sincerity that keeps the movie from feeling like a mean-spirited mockery of his character.

A Relic of the Early Digital Age

Looking back, Bedazzled is a fascinating artifact of early-2000s filmmaking. We’re right at the edge of the CGI revolution here. The effects that make Fraser look like a giant on the basketball court or transform him into a "sensitive" man at sunset are clearly digital, yet they have a tactile, slightly "off" quality that gives the film a dreamlike (or nightmarish) texture.

The basketball sequence is a standout, featuring Orlando Jones as a teammate who is just as confused by Elliot’s sudden prowess as the audience is. To make Fraser look like a behemoth, the production didn't just rely on computers; they built a 13-foot-high basketball hoop and used oversized props. It’s that mix of practical ingenuity and nascent digital trickery that defined the era of Harold Ramis’s later career.

Speaking of Ramis, the man who gave us Groundhog Day and Ghostbusters brings a surprising amount of philosophical weight to what could have been a disposable comedy. He’s interested in the idea that you can't "wish" your way into a personality. My favorite bit of trivia is that there was an entire eighth wish—the "Lust" wish—where Elliot became a hedonistic rock star. It was cut because test audiences found it a bit too dark, but you can still find it on those old DVDs. It’s a shame, because Brendan Fraser’s Spanish-language 'Drug Lord' performance is so aggressively weird it should be studied in lab conditions, and more of that chaotic energy would have been welcome.

The Cult of the "Rewatchable"

While Bedazzled didn't exactly set the box office on fire in 2000, it has aged into a legitimate cult classic of the "cable TV afternoon" variety. It’s a movie that doesn't demand your full attention but rewards it with sharp writing and great supporting turns from Miriam Shor and Paul Adelstein.

The 'Sensitive Guy' segment is actually a horror movie in disguise, featuring a version of Elliot who cries at the sight of a sunset and speaks in endless platitudes. It’s the ultimate "be careful what you wish for" moment, and it perfectly captures the era's brief obsession with the "New Age" man.

Ultimately, the film works because it respects the rules of its own universe. The Devil isn't cheating; she’s just interpreting the contract with malicious compliance. It forces Elliot to realize that the IT guy he hated wasn't actually that bad—he just needed a little self-respect and a better haircut. It’s a message that feels surprisingly grounded for a movie where a woman in a red leather jumpsuit turns a man into a giant.

Bedazzled is a charming, slightly frantic time capsule that captures Brendan Fraser at the height of his comedic powers and Elizabeth Hurley at her most delightfully wicked. It’s not as profound as Groundhog Day, but it’s a lot more fun than most of the high-concept comedies that followed in its wake. If you’re looking for a breezy 90 minutes that reminds you why the early 2000s were such a weird, transitional time for cinema, you could do a lot worse than making a deal with this particular devil. Just read the fine print first.