My friend and confidant, the roving radio guy Kevin Finnerty is well known for making some pretty hilarious comments during films. For instance during one film he shouted midway through “I want to leave.” Another time, when a film was dragging terribly, he said “Oh, let it end.” Sometimes his thoughts are summed up by a simple “Ugh,” or “oh boy.” He even interacts with the characters on screen like when one asks “Do you still love me?” Kevin will reply “No.” Given the right (or wrong) film, Kevin can make the experience somewhat enjoyable. What does this have to do with I Love You, Beth Cooper? Quite simply, Kevin was the funniest part of this complete waste of time, money, and film.

Which is bigger, my boobs or forehead?

It’s going to be tough to not use obscenities to describe this picture but one can try. In addition, the negativity that’s going to be directed toward this movie might make me run out of bad words to use for it. Beth Cooper lacks the ingridients necessary to make a movie, good or bad. There’s no point mentioning a script, direction, or acting because the man in charge of this torture Chris Colombus doesn’t believe this movie needs any of that. What he subscribes to is putting a camera somewhere and telling the performers to do something. Gone is the three act structure that even Lessons of Terrible Twilight and Mortal Kombat: Annihilation try to follow. What this medieval torture tries to do is emulate a John Hughes movie but forgot to bring everything that made those slightly enjoyable. Scenes just occur with no cohesion which is common when a film lacks a plot or this lovely thing called character development. The film is an hour and twenty minutes shorter than Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen yet it feels like it will never end. It feels like some sick joke Chris Colombus is trying to play on an audience to see how long they can stand being pummeled.

Paul Rust looks nothing, absolutely nothing close to a high-school student even with his anteater nose. Yes, his looks are supposed to repulse one as much as the film he’s in, but he looks like a creepy pedophile trying to bang the popular girl. He’s confused half the time probably because he has nothing to go on as the master of torture (director) and the architect of pain (screenwriter Larry Doyle) choose not to provide him anything. Equally as horrid as Hayden Panettiere as the title character who doesn’t need her character to be hatable. She’s unlikable from the moment she’s on screen and only gets worse as she plagues the film with her venom. Her line delivery sucks and her IMAX sized forehead makes her unsexy. The problem with both of these characters is that they wouldn’t be able to stand each other. Yes, it’s a movie after all but forgetting that these two have zero chemistry, they just wouldn’t get along at all.

The supporting cast doesn’t provide much as they’re given as much to do as the leads. Jack T. Carpenter is a stereotype of the “best friend who might be gay” and thinks that means annoy us to death. He’s a saint though compared to someone who should never come onto a set again in Lauren Storm. If there was a way to send her a letter to not step onto a film set again, she’d have it in her mailbox very, very soon. Her agenda in this film is to give the worst performance by a female ever, a task at which she undeniably excels at. Every time her mouth opens it causes physical pain to the audience’s body making one grab their heart in agony. Complementing her well is Shawn Roberts as Kevin, the alpha male douche boyfriend of Beth Cooper. He deserves to have his acting priviledges revoked for one year for his crimes committed here. Sadly, veterans Alan Ruck and Cynthia Stevenson ought to be ashamed of themselves even if they are just collecting paychecks.

Honestly, there’s not much else to say than to beg with the audience to not go near this film. It redefines terrible in ways not thought possible. It’s the worst film of the last five years, and most of the critics at my screening started our own little Myster Science Theater session midway through this crap. On a personal note, I flipped off the screen multiple times in hopes that the film print would somehow burn up and spare us from this new form of torture. To quote another film, ‘this was worse than cancer.’ It’s too easy to say I Hate You, Beth Cooper so instead I’ll say I Wish The Bubonic Plague, Want to Pull Your Heart Out, and Eat It While You Watch, Beth Cooper.

If I could give it a lower grade, I would.

Rating: ☆☆☆☆☆ 

Fox pulls the Atomic from it's toes

Big time movie studio 20th Century Fox has decided to shut the doors down for good on its sub division, Fox Atomic. Originally created to appeal to teens without bursting their own pocket on creating these features, the hits have been very scarce. From bomb-tastic pieces such as the recent Miss March to Turistas, there has not been so much luck getting this section of the studio up off the ground.

The plan for those who were under Fox Atomic will either end up attaching themselves to the main piece of the company or hit the road. The fates of films that are more or less completed and are set to be released this year is figured out, having release their last string of films and then not producing anymore from that division. Among the upcoming films is Meagan Fox’s Jennifer’s Body, Alexis Bledel’s The Post Grad Survival Guide and Hayden Panettiere’s I Love You Beth Cooper. Keep on the lookout for each one of these films, bowing into theaters during the summer (Post Grad and Beth Cooper) and fall (Jennifer’s Body).

To sum up Miss March, it would be like this: the trailer is the film. Literally almost every good joke is used in the trailer which is the Cliff Notes version of the film. What’s not shown is all the gross potty jokes that would only find a home in an R-rated trailer. It should be no surprise, the film has an atrocious script that relies way too much on the potty jokes to be funny. Even the funniest bit in the film involves a part of a horse’s nether regions and works only because Craig Robinson is the best thing about the film.

Tucker (Trevor Moore) and Eugene (Zach Cregger) are best friends and (as usual) seemingly the total opposite of each other. Eugene is the prude and Tucker is the sleep-with-anything-that-moves type, who has a huge obsession with Playboy. Eugene’s girlfriend Cindi (Raquel Alessi) thinks they’re ready to get it on and plans to do so on prom night. On said night, Eugene gets the jitters so Tucker tries to calm him by getting him super drunk. Well, Eugene stumbles down a flight of stairs into a basement and has a toolbox and shelf fall on top of him putting him in a four-year coma. He awakens to Tucker (fate worse than death) and to find out his girlfriend is now a Playboy Bunny. The two decide to embark on a quest to “win her back” for Eugune and for Tucker to live out his lifelong dream of being at the Playboy Mansion.

There are so many problems with this movie not even a real-life brain surgeon could fix them. Let’s start with the most annoying, Trevor Moore as Tucker Cleigh. He reaches Jar Jar Binks levels of annoyance and then eclipses that Gungan asshole. It was as if Trevor watched Episode I as part of his character prep. He’s supposed to be the character with all the laughs but instead you’re wishing Eugene was the one with the bat beating Tucker over, and over, and over until he cannot move or breathe. Never once is he funny or even chuckle-worthy. His character is every single “annoying friend” cliché in the book and Moore doesn’t even attempt to do anything with him other than make him worse than he needs to be. This is a definite Razzie contender for Worst Performance.

It’s clear that in Cindi and Eugene’s relationship, Cindi wears the pants given the bitching and whining Eugene does. His attire for most of the film is a tuxedo shirt that has a woman’s bikini and body on both sides and a pink Foxy hoodie that fits him really well. Every one of his scenes is “Tucker, don’t do this” or “I can’t believe we’re in this again Tucker”. You could almost replace all his lines with a baby crying and get the same effect. Raquel Alessi does essentially what’s asked of her which is to look hot and strut it. I have to point out that the film is called Miss March yet we never see her puppies. Yeah, she’s the centerfold but we only see her covered up by white sheets. The same can be said about their relationship as the film is about these two characters getting together. Eugene travels to the Mansion to finally get with Cindi…and we don’t see it. It’s like The Dark Knight ending with Batman and Joker ready to face off and we cut to credits. In that case, the movie is essentially about nothing with no pay off.

The only semi-redeeming thing is Craig Robinson as Horsedick.MPEG, a rapper who blows up thanks to the wonderful power of the internet. I feel no shame in spoiling the best part which involves Horsedick.MPEG filming a music video called “I Want You to Suck My Dick While I Fuck You In The Ass.” Robinson stole the show in Zack and Miri Make a Porno and here he’s fighting against the film. He’s trying to elevate the material to funny but what’s around him is so bad he only does so much. In fact, the ending sort of ruins his character with a lame joke about his own private parts.

I mentioned earlier that the film relies way too heavily on potty jokes and it’s true. Every joke in the film involves either sex, lesbians, or excrement and all try too hard to be funny. There’s a gag about Eugene waking up from his coma and having to move his bowels every time he gets stressed. It was incredibly flat and outright gross the first time it’s in the film, but they don’t care and treat us to it later on. The other attempt at the funny involves Tucker’s girlfriend Candance, who has epilepsy. She’s stabbed in the face with a fork when she bites Tucker’s junk, and tells her brother who you’d think is a FBI Agent? Nope. Police officer even? No, her brother is of all things, a fireman and as the movie tries to tell us, “Firemen are crazy.” The movie isn’t concerned about accomplishing a goal (like Cindi and Eugene getting together) or livng up to its name (only ONE pair of tits is shown in a film endorsed by Playboy) but in throwing lame joke after lame joke at us and hoping it works.

I’ve never watched “The Whitest Kids U Know” but I can say this film didn’t do much to persuade me. It tries too hard to be funny, crude, and doesn’t even try to care about its main plot and can’t even live up to the company that’s sponsoring it by the lack of tittilage. In fact, this is the first time a film actually reached out from the screen, formed a fist and played conga on my body. Words can’t describe how bad it is, and not even “horribafuckus” defines how awful this film is. Give it a few years and this will be a form of torture in some countries.

Rating: ½☆☆☆☆