Pot films.  Nobody expects them to be the next Citizen Kane.  Nobody.  Not the people who write them.  Not the people who are in them.  Not the people who direct them.  Not the people who produce them.  They don't make much money, either, which kind of makes you wonder how Jersey Films, which usually churns out pictures like Erin Brockovich and Pulp Fiction, got involved in the latest flick about two stoners and their wacky adventures.

How High stars popular rappers Method Man and Redman as a pair of Staten Island hopheads preparing for their upcoming college entrance exams, which aren't the SATs but the THCs (Testing for Higher Credentials).  Before the exams, Silas's (Method Man) best friend Ivory (Chuck Davis) accidentally sets himself on fire, falls out a window and gets hit by a bus.  Like any grieving friend interested in alternative ways to grow weed, Silas uses Ivory's ashes to fertilize one of his many pot plants.  When he rolls a fat one from the Ivory plant, Silas is visited by the ghost of his dead pal, who helps him and Jamal (Redman) ace the THCs.

Because of their impressive test scores, every college in the country woos Silas and Jamal, who ultimately decide to attend Harvard when the school's chancellor (Fred Willard) tells them there are all kinds of fine bitches up in that shit (or something like that).  What follows isn't as much like Legally Blonde as you might think.  High is full of the conventional jokes about the diligent white students who follow the rules (those goddamn pricks!), the Uncle Tom dean (whose last name is Cain...get it?), trickin' out some hos and gettin' all kinds of stank on they hang-low.

In his pursuit of higher learning, Silas hooks up with a smart student (Lark Voorhies, Lisa from Saved By the Bell) who is busy trying to figure out what some recently discovered artifacts that once belonged to Ben Franklin are supposed to do (Gee, I wonder if they're parts of a primitive bong?). Meanwhile, Jamal is hittin' a fine piece of tail (Essence Atkins), who happens to be the daughter of the Vice President.  There could have been some decent gags about the U.S. having a black Veep, but they're passed over in favor of some jokes about a pimp who slaps people with hands full of baby powder.  Because that's funnier.  See?

Me neither, but there are some things (usually sight gags) that do actually work in High.  Most of it is out of left field and catches you off-guard but probably wouldn't hold up for a second viewing - unlike, say, Up in Smoke, or even Half Baked, which, like High (and all of Kevin Smith's films) features a character (Al Shearer) who doesn't talk at all until dropping some profoundly heavy shit at the end.  Wait...am I high now?  There's no profound shit in here at all.

Did I mention High was directed by Bob Dylan's son, Jesse?  Well, it was.  I don't know what exactly that means, other than the fact ol' Bob's kids are now 0-for-2 when it comes to trying to become commercially successful (anybody remember the Wallflowers?).  High sure seems like an odd film for somebody with a famous last name to attempt as their directorial debut.  The idea sucks on paper, and it doesn't get any better when it's on the screen.

1:27 –

for pervasive drug use and language, and for sexual dialogue