Spanish Fly Movie Review

If I wasn't deathly afraid that Daphna Kastner's husband, Harvey Keitel, would hunt me down and kill me, I'd say right up front that if Kastner wanted to write, direct, and star in her own movie, she at least ought to be talented in one of the three areas.

But I wouldn't say anything like that.

Kastner's misfire begins with a title that connotes thoughts of a teen comedy of high school students looking for cheap poon in Mexico, not a grown-up woman (Kastner) who's looking to write a book about the myths and truths of Spanish machismo. Unfortunately, Kastner's Zoe not only doesn't speak Spanish, she's functionally frigid. Her "research" necessitates a bit of dalliance with the locals, but this doesn't work out so well for her either, not just because Kastner is so terribly awkward but because the men she encounters embody perfectly the stereotypes that Spanish masculinity has come to embody. If I was Spanish, I'd be insulted.

All of this comes together like a bad episode of Sex and the City, and though Sarah Jessica Parker may not be the world's greatest actress, she looks like Meryl Streep next to Kastner. Sorry, Harvey. Skip this one.