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21

a film by Robert Luketic

Take a bunch of vapidly pretty faces, all with about zero quality charisma outside of the typically uninspired fanbase of The O.C. or Gossip Girl, and place them, nay, pose them in an equally vapid storybook world where everything is performed as if an Abercrombie & Fitch catalogue vomited onto the very celluloid, some of it even in preposterously uninspired slow-motion (c'mon! Really!? Slow-motion!?) and then toss in the requisite slimeball (played by the requisite Kevin Spacey) and a few strategically placed all-too-hip pop songs, and then throw in a lesson well-learned for good measure and one has not just this piece of 18 to 25 year old marketing glop, but just about every other Y-Gen slack fest meat market movie on that very same said meat market.

Trite and contrived? Sure. Cool-for-cool's-sake? You betchya. Acted as if this were an MTV reality show? Hell's yeah bitches! But what does one expect these days? The audiences are getting less discerning so why even bother if no one is even going to notice how bad the cinema is becoming - has become!? Vapid? Yes indeed, but on some level I suppose that (almost) works for the audience this film is seeking to reach. I really have nothing more to say here, so in sum, and with an eye toward the mass market consumer cattle that fall for this kind of thing week after week after week, I'll end with the inane pseudo-catch phrase of the film - winner winner, chicken dinner!? [04/04/08]

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