Dave's Rating:


a lying movie full of lies.

Who's in It: Dane Cook, Jessica Alba, Dan Fogler

The Basics: Poor Dane Cook is cursed — CURSED! — to have tons and tons of no-strings sex with a never-ending stream of hot women who know that if they do him, then the next guy they meet will be their one true love. Naturally, all Dane wants is sex with love, true emotional connection and some cuddles. What guy doesn't?

What's the Deal? This is a lying movie full of lies. The first lie is that the mere presence of Cook is automatically funny. He's a terrible stand-up comic but capable of being funny if someone else is writing good material. Neither of those things happens here. The next lie is the one the movie tries to tell you every time Cook does "it" with a woman and then sits there with a sad puppy look on his face, his widdle feewings hurt when it turns out she just wanted to use him for his body.

If You're Going Anyway, Who to See It With: A rowdy backtalking crowd is best. That's who I saw it with, at a screening sponsored by a radio station. The recruited audience laughed at the stupid unfunny stuff enough times to make it seem like they were enjoying themselves, but then at odd moments they'd all sort of turn their backs on it and mock the action. Every time Cook's character grimaced and resisted the advances of a bare-breasted actress, a young female audience member sitting near me would say, out loud, "DO IT!"

The One Character That Seems Real: Fogler, the guy from Balls of Fury, trying to make it up to everyone by being nasty and actually funny as Cook's horn-dog best friend; he responds to Cook's question, "What is sex without love?" with the answer, "It's STILL SEX!" Again, audience members at the screening vocalized their agreement.

Most Mind-Scramblingly Stupid and Awful Sequence and Therefore One Not to Be Missed: Because Cook wants to avoid sex with Alba for fear of her leaving him for a new Mr. Right, he limits their contact to phone calls. This prompts a phone-call montage set to what might be the worst pop song ever written. I don't know the name or the artist, and I don't want to, but the lyrics really do go, "I love it when you call me on the phone … yes, we're talking on the phone, and I love it." And on and on like that. Seriously.


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