None of the bad teachers that I had in high school wore fuck-me pumps and mini-skirts. Instead, they all seemed to be sporting rumpled sport coats, unruly ear hair and the uncanny ability to finger you from across the room using only their eyes. This disconnect from reality is apparent throughout the movie "Bad Teacher," which seems to equate cussing and dressing like a slut with an inability to educate. If that were true, then how do you explain the popularity of Dora the Explorer? Or Jersey Shore? I challenge you to name two television institutions who have done more to advance society.
Moving on, it's nice to see Cameron Diaz transitioning into roles where she can rely more on her foul mouth rather than her increasingly age-lined face. Really, Hollywood just doesn't write for women in Diaz's awkward demographic, where she's too old to play "hot," but too young to play "Patrick Stewart." In order to avoid slipping into that nefarious middle ground that has consumed actresses as talented as Pamela Anderson and Catherine Zeta-Jones, Diaz has been forced to reinvent herself as sort of a rail-thin shock comic who can still sort of pull off being sexy even when she's playing high.
It probably helps if you're high too when checking out "Bad Teacher," as that might help you get through the film's excruciating lack of plot, combined with a cast of characters that might as well have been lifted directly from every single fucking movie about a school ever made, ever. You've got eager beaver over-achiever teachers, dumbass phys ed burnouts and a principal who's obsessed with dolphins. That's right – dolphins. You can't expect me to believe that an administrator with a five-foot crystal dolphin statue in his office wouldn't be instantly brought before a grand jury within days of the school year starting, but there it is.
All-in-all, "Bad Teacher" could have been saved from its own lack of inertia if at any point someone on either side of the camera had said "hey, maybe we shouldn't have cast someone from Saturday Night Live." Honestly, that's the kiss of death for any movie. It used to be just Dan Aykroyd, but now making the mistake of employing anyone even peripherally associated with the most painful two hours on television is akin to setting $40 million on fire on a barge in the middle of the Atlantic ocean. Just ask Tracy Morgan.
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