Dirty Love

What is it about Jenny McCartney? She seems so smart, so willing to poke fun at herself and she is very pretty, but she’s also stuck in a brain-dead sort of humor that died shortly after the first two American Pie films. Dirty Love is an aggressively awful film with practically nothing redeeming, charming or funny about it.

From the script, cringe-worthy and incompetently written by McCartney, to the cinematography, which makes everyone look either too washed out or like it was done with a flashlight, Dirty Love is an exercise in endurance. Look, I love a movie that is so bad that it is almost high art, Showgirls being the best example of this, but Love doesn’t even have the decency or tenacity to be that bad. It’s just awful.

Is there anything that I like? Well, sure. I might have giggled and then felt dirty about it afterwards when she bled all over the supermarket. And looking at Victor Webster is never a chore, although this does push it fairly close to that level. But trying to watch Carmen Electra act, especially as a faux-ghetto black girl, is especially embarrassing and nausea inducing. Watching McCartney debase herself is ceases to be funny shortly after the movie starts. And trying to look at it is painful – was this filmed for $20 with someone’s out-of-date hand-held camera?

Should I say more? Perhaps. Will I? No. What good would it do, people that think this is a good movie obviously will never appreciate a real movie like Annie Hall or Born Yesterday, two examples of romantic comedies which star plucky, sexy and funny females that miles away and above this cinematic crap. Which is exactly what this is.