Sometimes Judge David Johnson watches movies that force him to rethink his compensatory arrangement on this site. This pile of donkey discharge is one of those movies.
Are you down for some Tinseltown partying? (Say no)
I have just finished watching this putrid crap, and like battling the effects of a batch of rotten clam strips that are playing havoc with my stomach lining, I find myself faced with the immediate urge to run and disgorge the contents of my traumatized brain. The short of it: Bottoms Up may be the worst movie I have ever seen.
Facts of the Case
Owen (Jason Mewes, Clerks) is a bartender from Minnesota who needs to find some fast money to save his father's steakhouse. To save the restaurant, Owen travels to Hollywood to enter a bartender contest and use the prize money to bail out his father. But after he gets screwed out of the winnings, he's forced to find an alternate means of financial generation.
Enter Hayden Field (Brian Hallisay), Hollywood's biggest star, and his wispy girlfriend Lisa (Paris Hilton, House of Wax). Owen sees a way to ingratiate himself with Hayden and his cool kids, and maybe score some fast money when he learns of a dirty little secret in Lisa's past. This little blackmail scheme plugs Owen and his effeminate Uncle Earl (David Keith) into the social pipeline of Hollywood celebrities, and the two start to see dollar signs.
But things get complicated as Owen gets to know Hayden and Lisa better—especially Lisa. With romance in the air, friendship on the line, and bong water flowing like a river, Owen must find a way to rescue his father's steakhouse, get the girl, and screw over Hollywood.
I am not being hyperbolic here. I really do think Bottoms Up is the worst movie I have ever seen. Sure I'm kind of grading it relative to its budget and "legitimacy," but even the worst of the low-budget, home-grown crap that I've experienced has had at least a molecule or two of entertainment. Not this blood fart. If you look at the Scales of Justice, you'll see I've slapped the "Story" score with a "10." And here's how it breaks down: Five points for an amusing piece of dialogue from Kevin Smith's cameo character in the beginning (no doubt written by Smith) and five points for the ability of the filmmakers to get moving pictures onto a DVD. That's it.
Bottoms Up is a comedy, but is as far from "funny" as Nevada is from Alpha Centauri. The script is as random and disjointed as I've ever seen, the direction and editing is hackneyed and miserable to watch, and you'll see better acting in any movie with the words "anal" and/or "penetrator" in the title. It amazes me this film ever saw the light of day, when the only light it should have seen was the soft glow of the sun through the portholes of the rocket ship specially made to launch it into fiery space oblivion.
To run through the litany of things that ear-raped my head in this movie would take several installments, so I'll spare you the torture and hit the highlights: David Keith has the comic timing of a dead fantail shrimp, the trick bartending scenes were shot in such a rapid, poorly edited fashion I had no idea what was going on, the bartending scenes didn't even matter because that storyline never played an important role in the film anyway, there was lots and lots and lots of swearing used to try and generate cheap laughs (which never materialized), Phil Morris incinerated all the goodwill he had accumulated through his portrayal of Jackie Chiles on Seinfeld and made me want to kick him in the carotid artery with a fork taped to my shoe, and then there was Paris Hilton.
I admit I am in no minority to say that Paris Hilton, to me, is roughly as irritating as parasitic fish burrowing its way through my urethra. But—and this is a testament to how Biblically horrible Bottoms Up is—she was one the lesser annoying parts of the movie. Her character was low-key and generally antithetic to the real-life Paris Hilton, and if you can overcome that knee-jerk "Paris Hilton? Eccch!" reaction, you probably won't hate her. Yeah, she delivers her lines like she's just awaken from heavily invasive surgery, but she was far from the lowlight.
The bottom line for Bottoms Up: there is nothing of value to be found in this mess. No wit, no romance, no nothing. Just a 90 minute long brain-flogging. In fact, its stench is so potent, if you're perusing the shelves at Blockbuster, just avoid the "B" section altogether so as to avoid contamination.
The film gets an anamorphic widescreen transfer which is decent enough, though the sound mix (5.1 Dolby Digital) was squirrelly; some of the dialogue was incredibly faint, particularly from Hilton. Then again, that may be a blessing. Previews are it for extra features.
Do you remember that scene from the movie Willow, when the little wizard guy from the village threw a bunch of bones on the floor to read a prophecy? I submit that the filmmakers used the same method to guide the creative process on Bottoms Up.
The accused is hog-tied, beaten with a wet jump-rope, and submerged in a vat of lava and sharks.
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