Judge David Johnson misses March. Back then he hadn't seen this worthless movie.
Our review of Miss March (Blu-Ray), published August 10th, 2009, is also available.
What's another word for hate? Something stronger, harsher, and more malevolent in its revulsion, a descriptor that elicits feelings of extreme fury, betrayal, and soul-consuming loathing. Whatever that word is, please insert it into the following sentence: "I ________ this movie."
This glorified Playboy commercial will offer you zero laughs, just a relentless onslaught of contrived, gross-out insipidness with characters who are as likable as the Khmer Rouge.
Facts of the Case
Two friends, Tucker and Eugene, have grown up with differing approaches to women. Since discovering his first Playboy, Tucker has thought of nothing but sex and Playboy (Miss March brought to you by Playboy!), encouraging his friend Eugene to embrace carnal debauchery and forgo his pledge of abstinence with his girlfriend.
Eugene eventually relents, but before he can seal the deal, he falls down the stairs and slips into a coma. Four years later, he wakes up to discover his girlfriend is posing for Penthouse (just kidding, it's Playboy she's in! Playboy!!!) and the two friends decide to road trip across the country to the Playboy Mansion (this mansion brought to you by Playboy!) and something something something…is this review over yet?
I am a fervent fan of capitalism, the best economic system ever devised and the most efficient method of bringing human beings happiness. However, there are downsides—the sub-prime meltdown, the Colombian drug trade, and now Miss March. I'm not sure what dark forces initiated the demographic study and box office predictions that led to the green-lighting of this project—a cancerous growth on the American film library, if there ever was one—but if anyone made a dime on this mess, maybe it's time we embraced totalitarian communism. For all of the political imprisonment and starvation, at least the proletariat never had to endure tripe like this.
Where to start? How about the big one, the utter void where anything resembling functional jokes should reside. Here's a sampling of some of the comic highlights that lie in wait:
• Tucker is receiving felatio from his epileptic girlfriend who suffers a seizure when he turns on a strobe light. She then clamps down on his so-and-so and he stabs her in the face with a fork.
• There's the recurring gag where Eugene poops himself.
• More than once, Eugene and Tucker almost get into car accidents and scream at the top of their lungs.
• Eugene sprays himself with gasoline because his muscles have atrophied.
• A stripper flies out a bus window.
• Crazy firefighters attack Tucker and Eugene.
• A tiny dog pees into a model's glass and she drinks it.
• Tucker and Eugene scream some more.
Even worse, the characters tasked with delivering this anti-humor are astoundingly irritating. You've seen the archetypes before in other, more superior sex comedies—the level-headed straight man and the irresponsible jackass. I would hazard to guess you've never seen them as worthless and grating as they are here. Tucker, as played by Trevor Moore, is supposedly this perverted sex machine, yet his idea of provocative erotica is Playboy? A dude like this would certainly be into some kind of deranged Japanese anime tentacle porn. Eugene (Zach Cregger) is somehow worse. The guy is supposed to be the clear-headed foil to Tucker's shenanigans, but nothing he does makes sense. The most important thing in his life is to have sex for the first time with his virgin girlfriend. Yet, even after discovering she's in Playboy (in a non-nude centerfold by the way, which is totally realistic) convinced she's succumbed to whoredom, he embarks on a life-threatening journey across the country, crapping his shorts, and screaming a lot.
Then again, without these stupid choices, how are we supposed to get the fellas to the Playboy mansion and smoking pipes like Hugh Hefner? That is, of course, the real purpose of this movie—to stroke the Playboy brand like a sexually deprived monkey. As bad as things are up to the moment when the guys arrive at the Playboy Mansion, from that point on things get unbearable. There is lots of filler with the guys talking to former Playmates about nothing, lingering shots on models, and the grand finale: a cameo by Hugh Hefner, which is simply embarrassing in its level of groveling.
The DVD, if you're so inclined: adequate tech specs with a 1.85:1 anamorphic widescreen, 5.1 Dolby surround mix, and forgettable extras like a pair of viral videos, and a censored (?!) version of a filthy rap song from the film.
Miss March is as enjoyable as an acetylene torch to the reproductive organs.
Guilty. Shackle this @#%*! and throw it in the hole.
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