The House Bunny
Whether it's in a horror film or a teenage sex comedy, one of the more repulsive continuing trends in Hollywood is the development and release of PG-13 movies that should clearly be rated R. Hacking a dude to death is not a PG-13 rated endeavor and neither is Playboy playmates running around their mansion. If it were, Playboy magazine would be readily available at your local library.
"The House Bunny" is about a bunny named Shelley (Anna Faris) who gets kicked out of the mansion and finds work as a house mother at the dreariest sorority in California. Imagine if you took every wall flower character from every "She's All That" film and you'd have a house full of girls like the girls of Zeta Alpha Zeta. Unfortunately, Shelley doesn't realize the solution to her problem is to find the frat house featured in "Revenge of the Nerds" and hook everybody up.
If "The House Bunny" is an example for aspiring screenwriters, the recipe is this: "rip-off the plot of some other film and change as many lines as you can." Writers Karen Lutz and Kirsten Smith should be sued for plagiarism and then forced to write scripts for Mexican television. Of course, there's a rival sorority trying to revoke the girls' charter. And yes, the girls are all cookie-cutter variety dweebs. There's a farm girl, a girl in a metal spine suit (Rumer Willis), and the girl who doesn't talk. Naturally, the girl in the suit has an emotional moment where she breaks free of the suit and the girl who doesn't talk talks during her breakthrough moment. There's also a forced love interest for Shelley in the form of Oliver (Colin Hanks). These plot developments roll off the screen like giant boulders. You can't get out of their way and are simply crushed by their massive weight.
Let's face it, "The House Bunny" should be a festival of T&A. Why else do you make a movie involving Playboy playmates? The best we get in this film is a shot of Anna Faris's body doubles' butt. Gee, thanks for that. For Christ's sake, there should be enough boobs featured in this film that, by the time it's over, I should feel like I've just had a lap dance for two hours.
After the end of "The House Bunny", I should have had an erection that ripped a hole in my jeans. Instead, I was intently focused on the hairs of my anus, which were standing on end.
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