Thursday, May 12, 2011

The Megan Fox Career Killer

By Stella Cole, Top Critic
Hollywood, California

Sometimes in life, a movie comes along that you know is going to be so god-awful, it becomes required viewing. A movie that will be a lasting and permanent source of embarrassment for all those involved. A movie that will echo through the ages as nothing but a steaming turd pile that will forever blemish the art form that is film. This, my friends, is Passion Play.

Mickey Rourke, Megan Fox, Bill Murray, Kelly Lynch, Rhys Ifans, I have just one question for you all. Why? What was it about this story that you found so compelling, you just had to participate? You’ve got Rourke as your trumpet-playing drifter with a heart of gold. Megan Fox is a circus sideshow freak – a lovely winged ingénue, a bird woman or perhaps a real angel. Their totally gross love is as unwarranted, as inexplicable as it is puke-worthy. Bill Murray phones in an unusually painful performance as the powerful town crime boss, hell bent on stealing the angel and somehow profiting from her awesome wingyness. With a plot that bad, why bother acting, right?


For any train wreck lovers out there, with a morbid curiosity powerful enough to prompt you to sit through the first hour, I’ll tell you this. Do not give up. Finish the movie. I wanted to turn it off when the kissing started too. However, the last 5 minutes of Passion Play can easily be considered one of cinema’s most unintentionally hilarious payoffs. Thrice did I rewind, laughing my tail off every time.

Summary: Only suitable for the most masochistic of viewers. Hey, I’m a dog. I know turds.

Wags: 1/5

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