Friday, March 13, 2009
Movie review: Miss March
In recent years, the majority of R-rated comedies have come via the ever-expanding Judd Apatow fraternity, with a bit of David Wain thrown in. The hallmark of these films was to put in enough profanity and/or sexuality/nudity to warrant the R-rating, but to balance out the crudeness with likability/sweetness so that the film doesn't become bogged down in its own excrement.
Miss March, starring, written, and directed by the duo of Trevor Moore and Zach Cregger (two of the five members of the comedy troupe, The Whitest Kids U' Know), has no such mandate. Following the basic trend of their TV show, Moore and Cregger essentially set out to see how far they can push the taste envelope while still maintaining some semblance of humor.
Accordingly, Miss March never really pretends to lie anywhere near the realm of reality. Eugene (Cregger) starts off the film doing abstinence lectures with his girlfriend, Cindi (Raquel Alessi), for elementary school-age children (replete, of course, with a close-up of a venereal disease). Turns out, however, that Cindi doesn't exactly like practicing what she preaches, and she convinces Eugene to have sex on prom night. Before he can, though, Eugene decides to have a little liquid courage with his best friend, Tucker (Moore), and Eugene promptly falls down some stairs, putting him in a coma.
Four years later, Eugene awakens from his coma to discover from Tucker that everyone in his life (besides Tucker) has abandoned him and left him to rot in the hospital. When Tucker, a longtime Playboy aficionado, discovers that Cindi has become a Playboy Playmate, the duo (who, remarkably, have not aged a day) set out to track her down at the Playboy Mansion.
The “plot” is just an excuse to pile up offensive jokes, so let's list a few, shall we? Let's see – well, you have to start with Eugene being unable to control his bowels when he gets out of his coma, a situation repeated at least three times (though only once for the camera, thankfully). There's the presence of a rapper named Horsedick.MPEG) (Craig Robinson, who provides an Apatow connection. Oh, and that link is very NSFW), who has such songs as “Ima F*** a White B****” and “Suck My D*** While I F*** That A**” (which would seem to be physically impossible, but whatevs). Then there's the subplot that has to do with Tucker, fellatio, his epileptic girlfriend, strobe lights, and a fork. Let your imagination run wild.
Strangely, however, Miss March is not the joke-a-minute fest that it should be. For some reason, Moore and Cregger decide to slow things down at various points instead of keeping up the rapid-fire delivery that would've served their purpose much better. Also, for a movie that's all about sex and finding a Playboy Playmate, nudity is mostly absent from the film. It's almost as if Moore and Cregger felt liberated from their TV constraints, and then didn't know what to do with all that freedom.
Both actors play their comedy archetypes well – Moore the wild, horny one, Cregger the buttoned-up, conservative one – but neither one comes close to achieving greatness. Robinson gets the best lines of the film, but his role is limited at best. No one else is memorable, especially the requisite appearance of Hugh Hefner, whose wooden “acting” torpedoes his lone scene before it even begins.
Miss March could've aspired to be the next 40-Year-Old Virgin, but instead ends up as a lame hybrid of a Wayans Brothers/Farrelly Brothers comedy, the time for which is well past.
