Dirty Love

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John (Eddie Kaye Thomas) and Richard (Victor Webster) in DIRTY LOVE.
Photo credit: ©2005, First Look/Big Screen/Double Down.

 
Rebecca (Jenny McCarthy) wakes up from a dream—or, rather, a corny home video—to realize that she’s been dumped. After a brief series of conniptions and some self-deprecation, she visits a fortune-teller.

She’s told by the fortune-teller that she’ll have to find her “white pony,” and that it’s going to get worse before it gets better. Rebecca doesn’t believe her. The fortune-teller replies, “What do I look like, a comedian?”

I guess we’re supposed to find this funny because the fortune-teller is Kathy Griffin. Ha ha.

On a recuperatory shopping trip with her friend Carrie (Kam Heskin, effecting a cross bettween Melanie Griffith and Anna Nicole Smith), Rebecca, a photographer by trade, realizes all her camera equipment is at her ex-boyfriend’s (Victor Webster). She enlists the aid of another friend, Michelle (Carmen Electra), to recover the gear.

Carrie’s trying to break into acting by exploiting her looks. She provides for some of the less stale humor in the film, but also contributes to a misplaced awakening that occurs within the timeframe of this film. Funny? No. Unbelievable progress for someone whose entire life revolves around shopping and seducing men? Yes.

Michelle (Carmen Electra) is the proverbial white-girl-who-thinks-she’s-black… or at least that’s what we’re supposed to derive from Electra’s performance. The director manages to exploit two stereotypes at once—of black people, and of white people trying to behave in a manner they perceive as being definitively “black.” It would be funnier if the role weren’t a relatively accurate parody of Carmen Electra’s early, failed attempt at a musical career (anyone remember “Get on Up?”) vis-a-vis whoring herself out to Prince under the pretense of a protége.

Eddie Kaye Thomas plays the role of John, which is essentially a spin on his role in “American Pie.” In other words, it’s the “hopeless romantic” except in this case, he gets crapped on by Rebecca. Instead of taking the hint, he moves through the episodes of rejection like a trooper because, well, he has to stick around for the ending.

John and Michelle break into the ex-boyfriend’s house and find the equipment. It’s damaged, but they also have enough time to engage in some minor vandalism and observe, yuk yuk, the maniacal degree of Robert’s vanity. Sorry, it’s Richard, not Robert… This movie is so boring even I forgot the ex-boyfriend’s name. But seriously, do we need to see a stained (with what, we don’t want to know) wall-size portrait to know that he’s vain? Patrick Bateman, the cinematic god of vanity, had not a single portrait of himself in his Manhattan apartment. But then, comparing this film to “American Psycho” is a bit like comparing “Orgazmo” to Altman’s “The Player.”

The film is replete with its share of bodily fluid jokes, flatulence jokes, physical humor and, uh, an act involving fish you don’t want to know about. While McCarthy does well with some of the physical humor (she could be hilarious in stand-up), the slapstick is sporadic and the funnier moments are so sparse. The story itself is uneven and disjointed. Instead of having the comedic moments strung together by a narrative, it seems as though we’re watching a porno—but without the sex.

McCarthy co-wrote the story, and I think I understand her intended angle. In most of her comedy, she attempts to de-mystify the female gender and uses herself as a subject of irony because she knows she’s attractive. But seeing attractive people doing weird, gross or unexpectedly awkward things alone doesn’t provide enough substance to constitute a feature-length film.

Rebecca goes on a few failed dates involving men more bizarre, desperate and annoying than herself. All the while, naturally, John is pining for Rebecca. I can relate to John. I’ve wasted many hours doting on women who didn’t realize the men they were after treated them like crap. There’s a point at which one should pick themselves and their self-respect off the floor and move on. I and many men before me have learned that lesson. John does not.

It’s possible to view this film as a barely-funny series of vignettes which could be titled “When Bad Dates Go Even Worse,” if you suppose that Jenny McCarthy is sharing some anecdotes from personal experience. Perhaps, also, there is the possibility that I don’t get some of the humor because I am a man. Often, the humor involves “female situations” or camaraderie/rivalry between women.

Then again, my wife found it no more entertaining or funny than I did… and she is, believe me, an expert on “female situations.” I know because, as I’m writing this review, I’m presently the victim of a recurring one. You know which one. I dare not speak its name. What McCarthy and company haven’t learned is that humor is funnier by intention and implication than outright revelation. There’s a way to be funny at angles oblique to the situation. Unfortunately, the makers of this film haven’t discovered it.

John makes some sacrifices to help Rebecca replace her photo equipment, and eventually she may just come to her senses and appreciate what he’s done for her, but not before an obligatory musical interlude courtesy of Blink 182—or is it Sum 41? Who can tell the difference? The sequence disrupts whatever flow the film almost had, in favor of a music video style. There should be a rule in the Director’s Guild that requires that former music video directors be barred from directing features.

On one of her botched dates, the magician (yes, the magician) says, “I’m doing a big underwater trick, on the Tonight Show, and there’s a big explosion at the end.”

There’s a bomb involved, all right.

EDIT: Someone on IMDB’s message boards posed the question, “Could this film be any worse?” The answer? Yes, it could have starred Rob Schneider.

Dirty Love • Running Time: 1 hour 30 minutes • Aspect Ratio: 1.85:1 • MPAA Rating: R for strong violence, drug use, language and sexuality. • Distributed by First Look Pictures Releasing