April 6, 2011

Justify My Netflix: Talhotblond

(Like many Netflix customers, I too can get quite lax with the timely watching and returning of my movies, which of course defeats the entire purpose of having a flat-rate rental plan in the first place. To combat that, I am now writing standardized mini-reviews of each and every movie I end up watching through Netflix, both instantly and on DVD. Don't forget, all previous 'Justify My Netflix' reviews can be found on CCLaP's main movie page.)

Talhotblond

Today's movie: Talhotblond, 2009 (Amazon | IMDB | Netflix | Wikipedia)

Why I added it to my queue: Because this is being billed as a Catfish-style indie documentary about an online relationship gone horribly wrong; and I liked Catfish quite a bit, which was just enough to throw this into my 'to-watch' pile.

The reality: Ugh. Well, it turns out that this is not a fascinating indie documentary, but rather the cinematic equivalent of one of those horribly cheesy network-television "To Catch A Predator" faux-journalism shows -- you know, the kind where all the photos are in pixelated black-and-white and the text is always set in a blood-red Distressed Courier font? And where the whole thing is "narrated" by the dead victim from beyond the grave, full of prose so purple it would've gotten laughed out of even dime-novel offices in the 1930s? And where instead of judiciously quoting from sample "sexting" sessions to give the audience an idea of just what was transpiring between these people, they actually run full ten-minute uninterrupted transcripts of said dirty talk, line after line on-screen as ominous music plays in the background, and a slideshow of casual images from the perpetrators' Facebook accounts slowly tick by? And where none of the people actually involved want anything to do with the production, so it's instead filled with sweaty, freaky-looking "psychiatric experts" and tittering assistant DAs with perfect hair and cheap suits? You know, and where all the people involved are just such horrible, unrelentingly self-punishing pieces of trash, it's hard to work up any sympathy at all over their gruesome deaths, but rather tend to treat the whole thing as a lurid piece of trainwreck-porn, to be pulled out during mental masturbation sessions to remind yourself that there are people out there with much worse lives than your own, which was the whole reason the producers picked those people to begin with? Yeah, it's like that.

Strangest piece of trivia: The television rights to this movie were bought by MSNBC. Of course they were.

Worth your time? NOOOOOO

Filed by Jason Pettus at 9:17 AM, April 6, 2011. Filed under: Movies | Reviews |