Sunday, September 29, 2013


I realize that at this precise moment in time we are all fascinated with the abomination of Miley Cyrus, grotesquely wriggling her way into relevancy with the industriousness of a shaved-headed mutant snake baby escaping from the circus, but that's actually not the reason I chose to watch 'LOL.' I have two better reasons. One, this movie has been at the top of the Netflix Instant for like 2 solid years - you know what I'm saying, right? It's ALWAYS there, on every single queue list, even 'British Thrillers With A Strong Female Lead' - and I perversely thought that maybe if I watched it, it would fucking go away; and two, it's a movie called LOL. LOL, an Inter Nets phrase that only Olds use anymore, as it's lost all meaning. A phrase that nobody knows how to pronounce, because it shouldn't be spoken aloud, and yet people actually say it - or title movies with it.

Now, don't get me wrong: I LERRRRRRVE shitty teen movies. Obviously, as I was weaned on the 80s, and even watched 'Dawson's Creek' on the regular, with gusto. But there are shitty teen movies, like 'She's All That,' a modern classique, and there are shitty teen movies, like 'LOL.' I mean, even that one Amanda Bynes movie had Amanda Bynes in it, back in her glory 'Lindsay Mean Girls' days (although I'm sure you'll agree that Amanda Bynes's best work was in 'Easy A'. Sensational!). This movie has Miley Cyrus, an "actor" with so little charisma that watching her "act" is like sitting outside the Orange Julius at the Glendale Galleria and watching The Kidz text each other on their phones, and Demi Moore, a woman whose vulnerable, appealing beauty morphed into a funhouse version of Aeon Flux. In a sensible casting choice, these two dewy blossoms replace the stunning Sophie Marceau and the vibrant Christa Theret from the original French film, which was mysteriously remade into AMERICAN by the exact same director.

In the beginning, we get a montage of happy-go-lucky teens with Bieber '08 hair and hobo style scampering around laughing and keepin' it real. As Shakespeare wrote, 'Comparisons are odorous,' so let's go right ahead and compare, using that Olympic champion of teen films, 'Clueless.' 'Clueless' begins the same way as 'LOL,' its monosyllabically-named heroine narrating in voice over about, like, whatever, but immediately the inferior film begins to suffer next to its far cooler antecedent. Here's Cher wondering why it's so hard to make a good film about teens. As if, it was WAY easy for Heckerling!

LOL's boyfriend tells her he hooked up with someone over the summer, and her response is to make a face that looks like she barfed up a bag of marbles into her mouth. I'm guessing we're going to see that face again. Feast your eyes, just so you're prepared:

What you can't see in the above photo are LOL's corn kernel teef, which I far prefer to the blinding veneers she's constantly running her sea slug tongue over nowadays. So LOL writes dramatically in her diary in her toneless voice-over about her mom, her ex, her preternaturally hot best friend who she's obviously going to hook up with later on, and whatnot.

Another comparison rears its ugly head. Can you guess what it is?

BOOOO, you whore! Nice try, LOL, but unless you're sporting a monocle and pondering murdering your best friend while journaling, you fail.

A whole bunch of boring scenes are kind of flung willy-nilly together: there's a Battle of the Bands, where both LOL's hot friend and her ex are in the same band, playing at a club whose logo is the Dharma Initiative (is there an incredibly complicated, nonsensical subplot to this movie I don't know about?); Aeon Flux gets picked up by a hot cop; a cunty girl at school acts cunty; and some kids IM each other. But this movie has a wild card, and that wild card shows up for drinks with Aeon's friends. One of those friends is Fisher Stevens (oh, shit! Maybe I was right about the Dharma Initiative!), one of the men on this planet who got to stick it into Michelle Pfeiffer, but even he doesn't compare to:

Gershon looks GOOD in this dungheap of a movie. Her face is a little bit busted, her arm tone is gone, and her hair is shaggy. Cristal Connors wouldn't approve, but I fucking love it.

Ratchet LOL gets in an awkward fistfight (very loose term) with her ex, which precipitates a deep conversation (very loose term) with her mom and another montage of running around. A girl trying to get with her trig teacher (I was wrong, there IS a complicated subplot!) fists a chicken on a webcam, which confuses her mom, played for some reason by Sweeney sister Nora Dunn. LOL parties with her grandma, played for some other reason by That Girl, who's had so much work done her nostrils are fused shut. How have only 40 minutes passed in this movie!? It feels like I've been sitting through that Warhol film about the Empire State Building for 9 hours! OK, sorry, back on track. There are some asinine misunderstandings which allow LOL to stomp around "acting" and barfing up more marbles, and some sharp dialogue:

Hot guy's dad: You know what this report card smells like? No more music. Merry Christmas.
Hot guy: Merry Christmas to you too.

 LOL doesn't care about her boyfriend's problems, she's going to Paris; and as a going-away present Aeon gives her a single bead in a disproportionately large black box. I'm assuming it's some kind of really expensive bead, or maybe a bead that allows you to teleport, or something, because the camera lingers on it for an awfully long time. Can't you get beads in Paris? Isn't Paris the center of fashion? Why are they arguing about packing a sweater if LOL is going to the center of fashion? I'm confused.

Oh my fucking giddy aunt! There's another running around montage in Paris - set to a French version of 'Alright' by Supergrass! THIEVES!!!!?!?11!!

This is some BULL-SHIT.

When LOL comes back from her trip ("nothing special," according to what she told her mom, which, coincidentally, is always how I refer to my trip to Paris), her mom finds her diary, which is full of sex business, and they have a fight. In another movie this might be a catalyst for an actual story, but in this movie it is a catalyst for exactly nothing, just like every other scene. At this point I'm gagging for a scene of Aeon Flux and Cristal Connors fisting a chicken together, for chrissake! Instead I get a Battle of the Bands at the Dharma Initiative where the hot guy's dad has a come-to-Jesus about how terrific a musician his son is. And that, my friends, is the end of the fucking movie. Yet another stellar example about how NOT JUST ANYBODY should "act," even if that anybody is the super-famous daughter of a country music star from the early 1990s.

I know, Cher. I know.

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