By Mark Ramsey | 2001/03/27

“I wasn’t driving drunk,” bad-girl Shannon Doherty explained to an LA judge this week, “Isn’t the legal limit .90210?”

It’s Spring Break and college kids aren’t the only things getting wasted – my time is too. Tomcats puts the endurance “test” in testosterone. Here’s a movie that makes Rob Schneider look like Lionel Barrymore.


Warning: Jake Busey should not wear his hair long. He’s two paws and one stone ass away from the Sphinx. But it’s his super-sized teeth which are the real wonders of the world. Jake, do you skip toothpaste and go straight to fluoride-fortified wall tapestries? For us it’s called “chewing” – for Jake it’s “continental drift.” Who’s buried beneath those enamel tombstones, anyway, Jake?

If breasts were the Dalai Lama, Tomcats would be Kundun. The air is ever so thick with misogyny, it wraps around you like a lap-dancer. Any chick who loves this flick is a dip-stick for low self-esteem. Forget the free advance screening posters, just toss out wet t-shirts!

The cast is supported with bodies which need no support – Playboy playmates past and future, not to mention Playboy mansion regular Bill Maher, who plays a Vegas Casino mobster named “Carlos.” Carlos?! What part of Spain is Bill from, anyway? Must be the part where they tape Hypocritically Correct.

Teen steamer Jaime Pressly delivers frothy dialogue in a froggy voice suggesting she just smoked a leather ottoman between takes. Usually, talent of this magnitude requires three pages to unfold, not three acts.

American Pie and Scary Movie vet Shannon Elizabeth has two first names, both of which are easy on the eyes. When she’s introduced as a street hooker, you think “yeah, right, she’s Call Girl quality at worst.” Suddenly, she’s revealed as a tough-talking police detective – that’s when “street hooker” looks like the role she was born to play. Listen, the only kind of cop Shannon knows ends with “feel.”

tomcats_blankstare.jpgShannon reportedly appreciated this role because it had more dimensions than her previous gigs – up from 1/2 to roughly 3/4 dimensions, to be exact.

Here comes the gross-out bandwagon, everybody climb aboard! Star Jerry O’Connell chases through a hospital after a runaway testicle as it splats into a pan of sticky buns with predictably unsavory results. I wish I could say this movie hits a new low, but it’s no low John Waters didn’t hit twenty years ago. In fact, there’s nothing in this movie that somebody didn’t do twenty years ago. Trust me, you’ll finish the punchline before the movie even sets it up. Stevie Wonder could see these jokes coming.

There is the stray good line in Tomcats I suppose, although way too few and far between. “I hate this shade of lipstick,” says Jake, “it stays on your dick for a week.” More often, though, the laughs are programmed to groaners like “We’re at the Hard Rock. This place Rocks…Hard.” Ho ho ha ha ha.

Like a lot of movies nowadays, this one ends with outtakes which are measurably more hilarious than the rest of movie – maybe because unexpected, funny things actually happen in them.

What a concept.

Photos Copyright ©2001 Columbia Pictures


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