So Ali Larter actually believes she can steal Beyonce’s man? Somebody hasn’t reviewed the celebrity pecking order lately. And “somebody” means you, Ali!
“I know I should have tried for Jennifer Tilly’s man first, but my reach exceeds my grasp,” said Ali, who is best known for TV’s Heroes but is looking for a fast track back to the big screen even if it means working opposite an actor who seems to be named for an ancient Egyptian spirit incantation.
“Idris Elba, Idris Elba, Imhotep, Anckesen-Amon, arise!”
Added Ali, “Yes, my reach exceeds my grasp. It’s like when Apollo 13 was stuck in space and needed to construct a re-entry vehicle out of paper tissues and Power Bars. They proved it can be done!”
Here we are in a dead-serious asset management company. “I put the ‘ass’ in ‘assets,’” said Ali who flutters around her man like Martha Stewart around a doily.
And look who’s managing assets, it’s Jerry O’Connell, a guy I wouldn’t trust to manage shelves at the Costco. Jerry knows a thing or two about attracting beautiful women several notches above his star grade, but his job here is to be the goofy wingman. “It’s a role I was born to play,” said Jerry as began his daily regimen of calls to tabloids reminding them that his wife’s name is no longer Rebecca Romijn Stamos.
“With a name like Jerry O’Connell, I knew my future would include either a business called “O’Connell Chevrolet” or being thrown out of a Boston bar. Probably both!” said Jerry, who was deep into his first sellathon of the season.
Ali Larter is a temp – and she flirts with Beyonce’s man in the longest elevator ride in what must be the tallest building ever. And what does Beyonce’s man do at work all day? Well, he goes there, he swings a golf club around the office, and goes home – or to parties or on retreat.
No wonder folks hate corporate America.
So the office hosts a Christmas party – the kind where spouses are not invited, alcohol is served, mistletoe hangs overhead, and bare asses sit on copiers faster than you can say “collate that, double-sided!” Hey, who’s got the key to Jack Lemmon’s apartment?
“I’m not your typical temp,” said Ali, as she orders a dirty martini, which is a martini in a glass raised by wolves.
“I want you!” she tells Beyonce’s man in his car as she rips off her coat to reveal that today was “Bring Only your Underwear to Work Day.”
“She grabbed your package and flashed you in your car?!” asked a surprised Jerry O’Connell. “Rebecca grabbed my package once, but she was trying to return it to Nordstrom.”
“Did they take it at Nordstrom?” asked Beyonce’s man.
“Yeah, in Juniors.”
Obsessed is one of those movies where the lead character is compelled to check his email at 3am on New Year’s Day. I don’t care if Susan Boyle herself is emailing me her latest video tune from Les Miserables, I’m not checking email at 3am on New Year’s Day.
Besides, if I want to see an unattractive older woman sing showtunes, that’s why God gave us Liza Minnelli.
Enter Christine Lahti as the least convincing cop this side of Tara Reid. And anyone separating me from Tara Reid is doing both of us a favor. You’ll recognize Christine from her hairstyle, which evidently has been preserved in amber since the 1980′s.
The main attraction to this movie is the opportunity for A-lister Beyonce to kick B-lister Ali Larter’s butt. Then again, if you’ve seen the trailer you already know that.
In fact, if you’re seen the trailer you already know everything.
Even if you haven’t seen the trailer, the trajectory of this movie is so obvious it might as well be plotted down to street level on Google Maps.
There’s lots of foreboding music in minor keys, and if ever a key were named appropriately for this movie, minor would be it.
In case you’re wondering, not one second of Obsessed feels real, but plenty of those seconds feel real bad.
There are worse things than watching Beyonce kick butt. Unfortunately those worse things populate the first 90 minutes of Obsessed.