I'm not sure why the wife had me add it to the Netflix, but it appeared in the mailbox accompanied by the stench of brimstone and a cloud of deformed bats.
It's on the verge of being so bad it's good. I'm still not sure about that.
I'm certainly not going to watch it again to find out, but the braver among you might give it a try.
Selling points:
- Selma Blair takes off her shirt and makes out with a lady.
- Rhada Mitchell parades around nude for a good ten minutes in the middle of the proceedings, including the (increasingly rare) full frontal.
- It has one of the best WTF endings of recent times, when the dude the gypsy predicted would die young goes up to catch a pass in the climactic touch football game...and the ball kills him.
We were big fans of this development as moments earlier the wife commented "you know what would save this film? A meteor coming down and killing everybody."
Close enough!
It also had notably awful dialog, which surprised me because it was adapted from a novel. The nadir arrived during a coda following the tragic touch football game (possibly the only instance of good dramatic structure in the entire film), when Greg Kinnear addressed the perpetually long suffering Morgan Freeman with the line
If God hated us, he wouldn't have made our hearts so brave.
Morgan showed his professionalism by not bursting into gales of laughter, although who knows how many takes they needed.
So, an awful film, may or may not be worth watching. You've been advised.
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