Body Shots

Bomb Rating: 

As I'm readying myself to write this review, I'm struck by this film's tagline on the first page of its production notes: "There are Movies That Define Every Decade...."

How pretentious is that? Why not just advertise your film as being "Almighty God's first choice for weekend viewing"? Of course, there's nothing inherently wrong with the "Body Shots" tagline, it's just that this film can't even define itself, much less a decade. And if the definition of the '90s is "sucked like a Hoover," I suppose it succeeded phenomenally well. The huge irony here is that the only reason anybody will go see this film is for Tara Reid's breasts. If exploitation of women defines the '90s, then I suppose "Body Shots" has achieved its goal.

Another irony is that everybody in this film is so damn stupid you're hardly concerned with the alleged rape that takes place when Sara (Reid) and Michael (Jerry O'Connell) get together. This happens after the both of them get wasted at a local club and then go home together. Sara yells rape, Mike denies it, but neither of them can actually remember what happened. Here's an idea: Throw them both in jail for being idiots. Imagine if we had a law against idiocy in this country. No traffic jams. No ringing cell phones in the theaters. No Congress. It'd be great.

The writer of this film is David McKenna, who also wrote "American History X," so you know that he and pretension are friends. Best buddies, in fact. They play golf together. Their wives get along. The ultimate point of his movie seems to be that there is no truth. Well, you know what? There is a truth here. Either she was raped or she wasn't. If McKenna's goal was to reveal the hidden lives of idiots, he could have probably saved himself a lot of time and strapped a camera to the top of his head for a few days.

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