I'm sending out an all-points bulletin, folks: Release the hounds and send the Luftwaffe aloft, because one of the worst movies in years is about to hit your hometown screens, and you need the right kind of survival gear. Yes, "I Still Know What You Did Last Summer" opens Friday, Nov. 13.
Now, I know what is always said at this juncture: "Whaddya expect? It's a HORROR MOVIE, fer chrissake!" and yes, I've always lamented that complaining about Hollywood blockbusters is a little like going to a whorehouse and saying you didn't feel loved. And believe me, I've always considered myself a populist movie reviewer; whenever there are fart jokes or somebody getting a knee in the groin, I'm the first to laugh and tell my friends.
But "I Still Know What You Did Last Summer" is an affront to all movies; indeed, to all moviegoers, all sexes, all races and all those still able to put indirect objects in front of verbs. This thing is so cynical, so demographically tested and so mind-numbingly unoriginal that it almost DARES the audience to ask where their $10 went. I've only walked out on ONE movie in my entire life, and that was because the usher found out I was nine years old during a screening of "Saturday Night Fever." But this was one time I was looking feverishly towards the red EXIT doors tantalizingly placed at either ends of the screen.
Jennifer Love Hewitt is back as the long-suffering Julie, a girl who really should have died in the first one, but managed instead to get her anorexic ass to summer school. Her best friend Brandy, inserted to court the African-American dollar at the ticket booth, wins a trip to the Bahamas—so the two grab a couple of dates and hit the waves. Natch, the hotel is a bit like the estate in "The Shining," except that snow has been replaced by surf. Everyone on this island is a weirdo, which is just as well, because they all get a giant hook through the ribcage anyway.
None of the plot makes sense; characters drift away for 15 minutes at a time without explanation, the island is left empty by the "July 4th rainy season" (huh?!?)—and the finale, which even a kindergarten drooler could see coming a country mile away, is so feverishly dumb that even the Brown Reading Group will groan a collective "duh!" It's full of the cheapest jolts possible—not a single character in this flick is capable of walking forward in a dark room, and everyone keeps getting scared by the same pool boy. It's like having somebody punch you in the arm in the same place for two hours.
Not to mention it's racist (the writers turn the always-underused Mekhi Phifer into a slathering horndog), sexist (Hewitt's boobs are the centerpiece for every camera angle), and stunningly unfunny, but the movie's derivative sins should be obvious by the title alone—"I STILL Know What You Did Last Summer"? Please. This entire thing was written on the back of a cocktail napkin. More than ever, you need to avoid the multiplex and go see "Happiness"—it's about pedophilia, and I promise it's WAY less offensive.
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