http://www.hollywoodbitchslap.com/review.php?movie=18134&reviewer=392

Miss March

Reviewed By David Cornelius
Posted 03/13/09 00:49:13

"I watched it for the articles."
1 stars (Sucks)

A quick rule of comedy, regarding screaming, falling down, and liquid poo: Any one of those things can, by themselves and in the right hands, be funny. Two of those combined is a riskier venture, best left to the experts; one wrong move and you’re a loud, crass irritant. All three at once, that’s right out. Not even your funniest funny people can salvage such a combination, which smacks of stinky desperation. Try all three, and you’re done.

Needless to say, the dicks-and-tits comedy “Miss March” features a scene in which the leading man screams a lot while falling down, then emits “four years worth of” liquid poo. It’s not the first terrible thing you’ll see in this movie, and it’s not the last. But it sure is the loudest of its invitations to head to the refund counter.

The film stars Zach Cregger and Trevor Moore, two cast members from the horrible sketch comedy troupe “The Whitest Kids U Know.” They also make their feature debuts as writers and directors, two tasks they handle with the cinematic skill of people accustomed to videotaping crummy skits for YouTube.

Cregger plays Eugene, an uptight teenage twit who, minutes away from losing his virginity on prom night, falls down the basement stairs and slips into a four-year coma. Moore - who plays up his rubberface similarities to a young Jim Carrey so much he even sports a series of Ace Ventura Hawaiian shirts, resulting in a performance so offensive to all the senses that you spend all ninety minutes of the movie intensely wishing to punch him in the face - plays his a-hole buddy Tucker, a sort of Stifler-by-way-of-Rob Schneider (it’s even worse than it sounds), who’s there when Eugene awakens from the coma, informs him that his high school sweetheart is now a Playboy Playmate, and convinces him to embark on a weekend road trip to the Playboy Mansion.

I should mention that Cregger and Moore, while credited with the screenplay, worked from a story invented by three other writers. This means three people got paid an insane amount of money simply for turning in a script treatment that read, in its entirety: “Remember that one J. Geils Band song? It’s exactly like that, but a movie.”

I imagine Cregger and Moore added all the dick jokes and sex gags and rap parodies and lesbian nymphomaniacs (don’t ask) on their own, as the basic story is nothing more than your typically lame road-trip-to-get-laid comedy. I’ll give the duo credit for trying to make their film something that sort of mocks the formula; there’s something almost enjoyably subversive about coming to the obligatory gentle ending, only to see Tucker ramble on about “boning” as the music swells.

But it’s such a badly made movie that the subversion never clicks. The performances are uniformly awful, with clumsy editing struggling to cut around the thanks-for-remembering-most-of-your-lines takes. None of the jokes work - not the cheap slapstick, not the “clever” send-up of the rap industry (Craig Robinson plays an old friend-turned-rap superstar), not the running gags about vengeful firemen, and certainly not the liquid poo, which make more return appearances than even the lowest of lowbrow audiences would want.

Then there’s the sucking up to “Playboy.” Perhaps in exchange for letting them use the company trademarks instead of some generic non-copyright-infringing fake brand, the script bends over backwards to present the Hefner empire as the ultimate in classy porn. The damn thing becomes a ninety minute commercial for the magazine, with the bunny logo showing up right there in the opening credits and Hugh Hefner himself appearing in a cameo that, despite an iffy cue card performance, somehow winds up being the least awful thing about the movie.

That is, except for the creepy line he’s forced to deliver about how all women, no matter how unattractive, are Playboy bunnies at heart. I think Hef means to say that all women can be sexually powerful if they wish to be, but the movie makes it sound instead like all women are free to be airheaded sex objects, now put on this nightie and go get me a scotch. It’s plenty icky, but then, so’s the rest of the movie.

If “Miss March” were made twenty-five years ago, it would have the words “Bikini” and “Car Wash” somewhere in the title. It’s a cheap, crude, loud, offensive, and just plain stupid T&A flick, centered on the hormones of two young guys that aren’t funny, can’t act, and think liquid poo is comedy gold.

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