Speaking of which…
Just Married makes me misty-eyed for Rob Schneider. Married they may be, but believe you me, anything entertaining was left at the altar.
Finally a movie that answers Hollywood’s eternal question: How can we engineer new and different ways to bonk Brittany Murphy and Ashton Kutcher in the head and hoodwink the American movie-going public into paying for it? Fortunately, being a Hollywood couple, their heads contain nothing likely to be damaged any more than it already is.
Brittany Murphy is a very complex woman. Her eyes say “take me,” her roots say “color me,” and her random facial spasms say “treat me for Parkinson’s.”
Picture this: Her lips are Indian Red, her eyes are Raw Umber, her hair is Burnt Orange. Just 61 more colors and a sharpener in her ass and she can store your Crayolas.
You’re going to think I’m kidding, but I swear it’s true. From the side, it looks like Brittany is missing some teeth! Most likely they’re her wisdom teeth, since this particular career hiccup illustrates none.
Who’s watching the continuity in Just Married? It’s terrible! Unless we’re talking about the continuity of mediocrity from one undercooked scene to the next. In the airport, Brittany’s white blouse is drenched in hot coffee. Moments later it’s crisp and unsoiled – did she get Oxi-Cleaned at baggage claim?
And then there’s Ashton Kutcher. I don’t know what that is growing out of Ashton’s bare chest, but it needs more water and some Miracle-Gro.
Kutcher says the screenplay made him “laugh out loud.” It’s unknown what screenplay he was referring to.
“You can call me Pussy” Brittany’s mom tells Ashton, “like the cat.” At least that’s what she said in the TV spots. In the actual movie, the “cat” part was left out (note to the editors: That’s two seconds out, ninety minutes to go). It’s odd that the TV audience doesn’t know what a pussy is, even after watching Corey Feldman obsess over groceries in his shopping cart on “The Surreal Life.”
Ashton is the ultimate Ugly American. What could be funnier than calling Jacques “Jockstrap” – even if his name is Henri? What could be funnier than mocking those silly-sounding French words like “Bonjour” and “Merci.” Well, just about anything, it turns out.
Together, Ashton and Brittany visit Venice. “Imagine Ernest Hemingway sitting right over there,” Brittany says. Then a shot rings out, and the next thing we know Papa Hemingway is fitting Brittany’s head to a plaque over his fireplace. Ask not for whom the bell tolls, Brittany!
Ashton finds the only American bar in town. There he meets the stupidest American girl ever to visit Venice. If she flew over it’s likely that her arms are very tired. “Isn’t there supposed to be a beach here?” she asks. “You’re thinking of the Venice near L.A.” he says. “Stop spelling!” she warns.
So the Happy Couple motor around in a tiny yellow car. This is meant to be funny. Why? Because tiny cars are inherently ridiculous, whereas the gas-guzzling, ocean liner-sized SUV’s ubiquitous back in the states are really quite sensible. We Americans can’t drive to the convenience store unless we’re at the wheel of a double-wide, but boy oh boy, those economical Europeans sure are clowns, huh.
“Does it make sense to be with one person for the rest of your life?” Ashton asks himself. A strange question, considering most actors find it impossible to be with themselves for the rest of their lives.
In the end, this young couple runs to meet each other to fulfill their love against all odds.
What’s really against all odds is a good laugh.
Photos Copyright ©2003 Twentieth Century Fox