In the past decade, a number of theories have been proposed to explain Freddie Prinze, Jr., yet after years of work and untold millions in grants, we are still no closer to a Unified Prinze Theory than we were eight years ago, when young Freddie appeared on the scene, quite literally out of nowhere (in clear violation of all known laws of physics), to star in the prequel to I STILL KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST SUMMER. Attempts to explain not only the existence of a Freddie Prinze, Jr., as well as the enduring appeal of a man who has all the personality of a dry erase board have ranged from the serious (Prinze is a robot from the future sent back to kill us all) to the silly (Prinze is a robot from the future sent back to buy us York Peppermint Patties), but so far none have managed to sufficiently encapsulate the Prinze Mystique.

Currently, the prevailing theory centers around a phenomenon known as the Prinze Effect, in which people in Freddie's immediate vicinity lose all capacity for intelligent thought. Frighteningly, scientists say this "zone of retardation" extends beyond Mr. Prinze's personal space, and in fact can influence people who are merely viewing photographic representations of the man. For some time, it was believed that the only responsible way to watch a Freddie Prinze, Jr., film was through a pinhole in a piece of paper. Sadly, public health campaigns explaining this technique arrived far too late, and millions of teenagers were exposed to dangerous levels of Prinze, leaving them dopey, disaffected, and prone to buying Creed albums.

The Prinze Effect was at peak influence starting in 1999 with the release of SHE'S ALL THAT, the first of 61,353 romantic comedies starring Mr. Jr. that would be released in the next three years. In each one, otherwise rational and intelligent human beings who find themselves in his gravitational pull can be witnessed introducing themselves with the wrong name, going on wacky "stakeouts," and suddenly having sex with Ashton Kutcher for no good reason. Throughout it all, Freddie maintains his cool, or what appears to be "cool" but could just as easily be an extended NyQuil hangover. It's hard to say.

In HEAD OVER HEELS, the apartment-hunting Monica Potter meets bland fashion executive Prinze when his gigantic dog molests her in the street. The Prinze Effect kicks in immediately and, rather than run off to take a shower and call a lawyer like a normal New Yorker would, she instead sticks around to converse at length about his genitals. (Prinze's, not the dogs, not that it matters.) Later, when Monica's roommates make her up to look like a prostitute, Freddie blandly asks her on a bland date, and she accepts, only to witness him commit murder. One would think this might put a girl off of her plans, but instead, she and her friends hatch a wacky plan that apparently involves breaking into his apartment so that they can listen to him go to the bathroom. Now fully satisfied that his diet includes plenty of fiber, they go on the date anyway, and Freddie gets to third base.

This sort of stupidity is just peanuts to the Prinze/Julia Stiles romantic comedy DOWN TO YOU, where Freddie plays Alfred "Al" Connelly, bland, untalented son of the host of a TV cooking show and a popular radio personality. Al falls in love with Imogen, played by Ms. Stiles, whose parents aren't famous and therefore don't count. They go on to have lots of bland sex and even blander fights. In this film, the Prinze Effect extends well beyond just his romantic interest and spills out into pretty much everyone who appears in the film. People do inexplicable dances in student unions, drive drunk, wear pimp coats, grow mullets, and suddenly have sex with the aforementioned Mr. Kutcher for no apparent reason. It's practically a Tard-a-Palooza in there.

DOWN TO YOU introduces an important corollary to the Prinze Effect, the Don't Care Horizon. At about the one hour point, viewers' IQs have been reduced to the level where it's difficult to pick their noses without detailed instructions, much less pay attention to the uniteresting problems of two boring people. Unfortunately, once beyond the Don't Care Horizon, the audience is rendered unable to move, and thus is forced to continue watching until the credits roll, although often home video viewers have been known to escape by producing enough drool to short out the remote control.

The Don't Care Horizon eventually got closer and closer to the start of Freddie's movies that audiences just stopped coming. Which is a shame, because missed out on the one true gem in the Prinze romantic comedy oeuvre, the 1999 tour de force WING COMMANDER. This film, the poignant tale of one hotshot space pilot's forbidden love for a fellow cockpit jockey, will touch you in ways that you will have to report to a social worker. No audience could walk away unchanged when Prinze, as First Lt. Christopher Blair, boldly declares his love for Matthew Lillard's Lt. Todd "Maniac" Marshall. The way that Blair tenderly comforts hotshot Marshall after his showing off gets his wingman/lover killed and she is pushed off the deck by a little bulldozer is unforgettable, as are all the parts where some confusing stuff happens and they have to go out to fight aliens in space. Or maybe they don't. It's all very unclear, but what it isn't is not awful.

Naturally, the existence of such a quality film absent of all signs of the Prinze Effect does tend to put a considerable hole in the theory, and only lends credence to the supporters of the opposing theory, Unitelligent Design, which holds that the existence of someone like Mr. Prinze necessarily implies the existence of Santa Claus. And so the debate rages on. And on, and on. At least until Freddie kills us all.

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