Valentine

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By Mark Ramsey | 2001/02/04

I didn’t have high hopes for Valentine, but I should have hoped I was high. Is there anything more tired than the Halloween-masked killer genre? Yeah, me by the mid-point of this dumb movie.

What do you want to know? There’s not one second of unpredictability, not one moment that’s fresh, not one iota of inspiration, not one ounce of fright, not one inkling of entertainment.

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Here’s what I learned from this movie: Don’t hide in a body bag, or whatever we want to call Denise Richards.

Denise is “Paige” – aptly named since her higher faculties are paper thin and each cup-size is roughly 8 1/2 x 11. Contrary to expectation, Valentine is named not for the holiday but for the heart-shape of Denise in top-view. That’s one healthy heart! What ventricles!

Amazingly, Denise’s Carmen Electronic makeup hides all evidence of the needle that evidently pierced her frontal lobe and jiggled madly like an electric toothbrush. Then again, those bushy brows must be hiding something besides the blow-up mouthpiece.

Denise, why do you dance in this scurvy moonlight? Why do you doggie-paddle in this muck? You should turn up your nose at these proceedings – yes, I mean that tiny, perfectly triangular nose like the V-shaped craft flying over Phoenix.

On the positive side, whenever Denise flashed her preternaturally whitewashed teeth, there was so much light in the theater it’s lucky I carried sunblock. Each incisor, cuspid, and molar are registered Jedi light-sabers and they’d duel with her tongue if only it weren’t so busy wagging helplessly.

Denise pooh-poohs the odds that a former classmate is the killer: “I don’t think he’s capable of an intricate revenge plot,” says she, pronouncing “intricate” with one more syllable than anyone knew existed.

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Her big finish comes in a spa, where she must be gored to death. Drowning is out of the question, since submerging Denise violates numerous laws of Physics.

Whoa! The archetypical masked killer is a dead ringer for Shirley MacLaine! Even down to the cherubic face and obsession with dispatching folks to the afterlife. Shirley how could you?! Yuck, her nose drips blood every time she kills – she should really see about that since it may indicate the presence of a more serious condition.

Wow, this acting is bad. Even that guy from TV’s Angel puts the “bore” in Boreanaz. Usually, with talents of this magnitude the movie’s shot in an afternoon on video in a big house in the Valley and at least one cast member is named “Beaver Cleavage.”

So much dumb stuff happens in this movie you’ll marvel it ever got made without an executive producing credit for Gilligan and the Skipper. Like a midnight autopsy at the med school which doesn’t seem to carry any light bulbs. Like the idea that people die left and right and nobody realizes they’re gone. Like the bizarre fact that the killer’s a lot bigger than the kid Shirley turns out to be.

Check out the “scary” card Shirley sends one of our nubile young 90210-styled heroines: “Roses are red, violets are blue, they’ll need dental records to identify you.” The only thing scary about that card is the awkwardness of the rhyme.

How about “Roses are red, violets are blue, bail on this trash, we’ll all thank you”?


Photos Copyright ©2001 Warner Bros.

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“This is where we would kiss if I was attracted to girls”