(Long Island, N.Y.) I could wrap up this review with less than one paragraph by simply telling you that Miss March is a terrible movie and not worth your time or money. But one paragraph won’t get me paid, so I have to somehow stretch this almost plot-less movie into a full-fledged review. Well, here goes…
Miss March is a comedy (and I
use that term loosely) directed by and starring Trevor Moore and Zach Cregger, stars of the IFC show The Whitest Kids U’ Know. Now I’ve never watched that show, but if Miss March is any indication of its overall quality, it’s safe to say that I’ll be avoiding The Whitest Kids U’ Know forever. Of course, this will only be made easier by the fact that I don’t think that I actually get the IFC cable channel (what does IFC stand for, anyway?). But if I do, it’s gone- any channel giving an outlet to untalented hacks like Trevor Moore and Zach Cregger does not deserve to be transmitted into my humble abode.
Unfortunately, someone on Earth is apparently a big fan of The Whitest Kids U’ Know (how is this possible?), and decided to give its stars millions of dollars to make a feature film while I’m stuck making home videos starring stuffed animals and my pet corn snake. How is life fair?
So, the plot of Miss March goes like this: Eugene Bell (Zach Cregger) is a High School student who has an accident and ends up in a coma on the night he and
his girlfriend Cindi (Raquel Alessi) finally decide to have sex for the first time. Seems they’ve been abstaining for 2 years she’s had enough- or rather, not enough, if you know what I mean. Anyway, the still virgin-ized Eugene wakes from his coma 4 years later only to discover that sweet, innocent Cindi has moved on with her life and become a Playboy Playmate (in that very month’s issue, no less!). So Eugene and his friend Tucker Cleigh (Trevor Moore, seemingly the love child of Jim Carrey and Bam Margera) go on a cross-country road trip to the Playboy Mansion so Eugene can win the girl of his dreams back. There’s a tiny little sub-plot concerning Tucker’s girlfriend, who’s mad at him for stabbing her in the face with a fork. Oh, and there’s a rapper (with a naughty stage name that I can’t repeat here) that is played by Craig Robinson that plays a significant role as well, but for the most part, I’ve covered everything.
This movie is not funny. But it’s not bad either…it’s just boring,
which in my opinion is even WORSE then being bad. At least a bad movie tends to have some inherent humor value, if only for reasons other than what the filmmakers originally envisioned. But a boring movie…that’s torture. Every situation is cliché-ridden and most of the humor is mean-spirited and tries way too hard to be offensive and outrageous. Regardless, almost every joke falls flat and none of the characters are endearing or engaging on any level whatsoever. The only funny element of this film at all is the rap song sung by Craig Robinson’s character, but if a very small segment of the soundtrack is the only entertaining part of your movie, you’ve failed. Miserably.
It’s a shame…I was on a roll lately in terms of the quality of the movies I’ve been reviewing. Taken, Watchmen, Doubt…all good. But with the tag-team of death that is last week’s Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun-Li and now Miss March, I’ve found myself falling deep into the well of mediocrity once again. All I can do to make it through these hard times is to look
to the future and the (hopefully) good films that await me there. Terminator: Salvation starring Christian Bale looks really good. So does X-Men Origins: Wolverine, starring Hugh Jackman. But those are still a few months off, so in the meantime I can only hope that Miss March is the last film we see out of Trevor Moore and Zach Cregger for quite some time. And by “quite some time,” I mean “ever.”
Here’s a sad little story-:While I was watching Miss March, I looked to my left and saw a little old man in the theater, all by himself. He looked lonely and perhaps a bit despondent, and I could only feel massive pity for a person whose only recourse against apparent isolation and ennui was to treat himself to a solo viewing of Miss March.
That poor, poor man. Kids, keep in touch with Grandpa, okay? Don’t make him resort to this.
So, if you couldn’t tell, I’m giving Miss March a negative review. Don’t go see it. While it doesn’t reach the depths of pain that the reigning champion of bad movies (AKA Epic Movie) attains, it’s still a very wise idea to avoid it at all costs.
