Body Shots is not that movie.
Continue reading: Body Shots Review
After going from esoteric art house darling to Oscar-winning mainstream mogul without losing his soul, it was probably inevitable that Steven Soderbergh would eventually make an industry farce -- and "Full Frontal" is the consummate ironic marriage of his two worlds.
The cinematic equivalent of an Escher painting, it's movie within a movie within a movie within a movie that keeps folding in on itself. Low-budget ($2 million) but awash in big names (Julia Roberts, Brad Pitt, David Duchovny), it's also a joke within a joke within a joke. Sometimes the joke is on Hollywood mucky-mucks. Sometimes the joke is on fans of his mainstream success ("Erin Brockovich," "Ocean's Eleven"). And sometimes the joke is on art film snobs who can't understand why Soderbergh, the artuer behind left-field flicks like "Schitzopolis," "The Limey" and "sex, lies & videotape," would have ever "gone Hollywood" to begin with.
On one level "Full Frontal" is an over-lit, digi-video, fly-on-the-wall guerilla-style picture following several cross-pollinating characters both inside and on the fringes of the filmmaking industry. David Hyde Pierce plays a melancholy milksop writer for Los Angeles Magazine whose first screenplay is being produced. Catherine Keener is his petulant, borderline-lunatic wife, a human resources director who torments nervous employees in erratic, interrogation-style interviews by day, and by night becomes a Hollywood hanger-on with delusions of significance. Mary McCormack plays her sister, a manicly depressed massage therapist who gets sexually harassed by a bigwig movie producer (David Duchovny), who wants help with his autoerotic fantasies.
Continue reading: Full Frontal Review
Don't be fooled by the marketing campaign for "Body Shots" -- it's not a cool, funny, sexy romp or the defining document of life as a modern, twentysomething hipster, as the advertising has the audacity to proclaim.
In fact, this self-important, superficial ensemble piece opens unpleasantly in the minutes following an alcohol-induced rape, then -- after dropping that one shoe -- rewinds to the night before and makes you wade through an hour of shallow, soap operatic constipation with unbelievably one-dimensional characters before meandering back to this one element of the movie with any emotional hook whatsoever.
The bulk of "Body Shots" revolves around an octet of generically pretty, largely blonde, yuppies-in-training who talk incessantly to the camera, over-analyzing their sex lives and the difference between men and women in some of the most trite monologues in movie history.
Continue reading: Body Shots Review
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Don't be fooled by the marketing campaign for "Body Shots" -- it's not a cool,...