Well that was a hot mess.
Paul (Thomas Jane) and Wendy (Anne Heche) take their ten year old daughter Taylor on a camping trip over the Thanksgiving weekend, But Taylor doesn’t make it to the holiday. She disappears on the very first day, while mom is away and dad is flirting with the hottie next door.
Over the next week, as the cops try and fail to find their daughter, Paul and Wendy unravel. Almost anyone would, in their shoes. It’s a terrible thing to lose your child, and to sit helplessly by while search and rescue continues to turn up nothing. But it’s also terrible to disregard official police “advice” and take things in hand themselves. People under incredible emotional duress don’t make the best decisions. Wendy and Paul make particularly bad decisions, but it turns out they’re not the most stable people.
Peter Facinelli writes, directs, and appears as one of the inept cops, and should be deeply ashamed of all three. This movie is so out of this world improbable that, at times, it feels like the writer meant it as a comedy but the director wildly misinterpreted everything, except that Facinelli is of course both the writer and the director and very very bad at both. The entire movie is built around a terrible twist ending that takes a page from the very worst of M. Night Shyamalan and actively seeks to one-up him in a competition of awfulness. Even Anne Heche and Thomas Jane, neither of whom was ever mistaken for a good actor, do their best worst acting in this.
My very best advice: try your damnedest to avoid this one on Netflix.
Topher Grace plays a failed Broadway star turned production manager and we, the audience, are invited behind the red velvet curtain as he wrangles an eccentric and needy cast onto the stage for opening night of a new Broadway musical.
The musical is about one-hit-wonders of the 1980s starring NSYNC’s “other guy”, JC Chasez, and it’s an absolute pile of crap. But garbage or no, Nick (Grace) has to put out fires backstage (sometimes literally) because THE SHOW MUST GO ON. Even though the kind thing would be to put it out of its misery.
I always admire people who can laugh at themselves and JC Chasez certainly fulfills that role in this production, openly mocking his boyband status. But the script leans way too hard on these jokes, making it painfully obvious there’s just little else to this so-called film. It’s raunchy but without edge. The material wears exceedingly thin after the first several minutes and then you’re stuck behind the scenes of a musical you wouldn’t see for free. Supporting actors Anne Heche and Taye Diggs fail to bring anything interesting to the table, and Rob Riggle is downright irritating. Riggle does ONE thing, and that thing is annoying as fuck. It’s beyond time for him to just go away already.
Anyway, this is a too-short review just to say: skip it.
Sandrah Oh and Anne Heche play old college frenemies.
Veronica (Oh) is the wife of a wealthy businessman. She drinks too much and spouts dream-crushing advice to her teenage son. The marriage is unhappy. Ashley (Heche) is an artist who can’t sell her stuff because it’s bleak and full of rage. The two meet up years and years later, as Ashley is passing hors d’oeuvres for her caterer wife (Alicia Silverstone) at a fancy event Veronica attends with her husband. They are immediately hostile. Things escalate to the point of – you guessed it – a catfight. It’s pretty fucking brutal and it has some life-changing consequences.
One of these women is entitled and superficial while the other is entirely self-obsessed. There will be no chance of sympathy for either. They’re awful people. And it’s hard to enjoy a fight when you’re not really rooting for one person over the other. I took an instant dislike to the film because the characters felt so unrealistic to me and I hate to see women portrayed so unfairly.
This is supposed to be a black comedy and it IS black (and blue) but not very funny. It mostly felt degrading. I even object to the title, which is a sexist piece of shit term that I do not condone. And a bright spot provided by Titus Burgess as a physical therapist isn’t near enough to make this thing bearable (nor does he approach the fabulous heights he achieves regularly on The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt). There is no character arc to redeem them. The only real takeaway from this film is that perhaps misogynist director Onur Tukel should be sent into therapy for a very long time. He sets their fight to circus music, making the women a sideshow, their pain a farce.