You know a movie is bad when I don't have to make anything up.
The first indication that you're about to enter some Haldol-induced fantasy world is a credit given to designer Todd Oldham for Sarah Michelle Gellar's wardrobe in the opening credit sequence. He's right up there with the co-producer, writer and director. Ironically, considering how putrid the direction, writing and acting are, Oldham's creative contribution is actually significant, relatively speaking.
While sashaying around in her little Todd Oldham outfits, Amanda (Gellar) works in the kitchen of her restaurant, where her bad cooking is driving away customers and putting her out of business. Then -- and I only wish I had actually made this up -- she finds a magical crab, and suddenly she can cook. Her food attracts the attention of department store manager Tom (Sean Patrick Flannery), and soon Amanda is whipping up dinner for hundreds of people in her little Todd Oldham outfits without so much as breaking a sweat.
Every now and again the director, Mark Tarlov, will cut to the magical crab, whose beady little eyes shift back and forth as it watches over Amanda. Her food becomes magical -- and her every emotion passes through the food into her customers. They cry. They have orgasms. She and Tom float into the ceiling. Smoke billows from fruit and coats the floor. Honestly, can you imagine a multi-million dollar screenwriting deal hinging upon the words: "magical crab"?
You know a movie is bad when I don't have to make anything up. Really, I was waiting for Sarah Michelle Gellar to lift up a leg and piss a stream of Merlot across the room like one of those water fountains at Disney World. Perhaps that will be in the director's cut. The only thing simple about this movie should be the urge to resist seeing it.
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