So, when the blog began, there was a small problem. This was supposed to be 100 movies in 100 days and I only had 99 of them that I hadn’t watched. So, I asked Facebook to pick movie 100 and I would pick it up, forcing myself to watch Human Centipede if I pulled its box before I received that movie in the mail. Human Centipede would have been a better pick.
So, there were two things that scared me about this movie right from the box: 1. The chapters were listed on the back, so while searching for how long the movie was, I pretty much skimmed over the whole story. 2. None of the girls on the front of the box were actually in the movie; like after they watched the final cut and started doing the promo shoots, the real actors all said “I really don’t want to be a part of this” so the creators had to find other sluts. I don’t fucking blame them.
So, the premise of 100 Girls is pretty much the cliché “love at first fuck” story about a college student named Matthew (Jonathan Tucker, inspiration for John Tucker Must Die) who meets a girl during a blackout in an elevator, loses his virginity on that elevator in a sexual encounter that every virgin knows shouldn’t really work out that well for many reasons, and spends the rest of the year trying to find out who this mystery woman is because despite being sharp minded* and quick witted**, this lame brain decides that small talk like “what’s your name” isn’t as important as “this is a great opportunity to have sex right now,” which all virgins know SHOULDN’T REALLY WORK OUT THAT WELL, but whatever, sex comedies*** can’t think that hard, the creator’s blood is flowing somewhere other than his brain. Whole-heartedly believing that this is his one true love (as shown by his overwhelming attention to detail like her fucking name or what she’s going to school for or remembering her voice or any other fucking giveaway), Matthew must resort to the only clue left behind, a pair of panties (duh, you expected nude photos from the neck down? Ha! Wait for the sequel you perverted fucks!) which, if he can find the matching bra, he can find his girl…a concept that lasts all of 20 minutes.
Infiltrating the all-girls dorm that has, take a guess, 100 girls in it, Matthew poses as a maintenance man so he can investigate the same 25 girl’s dorms a billion times and find the counterpart to his beloved undergarment. While this occurs, he finds himself in regular debate about the irony of the male vs. female psyche, spouting off lines that lazy first-time comics steal off the internet that ultimately make their audiences pity them for thinking they’ve gotten away with some original idea.
Because this film is too afraid to actually delve on this pointless plotline, Matthew instead delves more into the mind of the female with as much bumbling idiot charm as Woody Allen except not nearly as entertaining or intelligent. The movie glorifies his cliché “isn’t it funny that” rants and encourages more of it with cheers, applause, and admiration not because he makes any decent points, but because he’s the only one who’s allowed to fucking talk. I swear I could start to taste the shit that spewed from his mouth and on the moments where he got to take a breath, his retarded Barney Rubble roommate, or the slutty “we get to be in a movie” fembot princesses would pick up where he left off, dribbling out static psycho-analysis that rivals that of the Flintstone phone as if it were some defense mechanism for when audience stormed out of the theatre demanding their money back, the box office could say “well you at least took away one interesting line to validate the ticket price, didn’t you?”
There is nothing that I can possibly respect about this movie. Even the moments of sweet romance were shrouded by the cum-stained bed sheets of sexual innuendoes, cheap gimmicks, pointless nudity, and fucking non-stop dime store fortune cookie dialogue that makes a Kevin Smith movie look like a god damn silent film. You don’t get to root for the love story because the movie forgets there’s supposed to be one for half of it, nor do you get to like any of the characters because the movie kind of forgets there’s supposed to be some of them too. Even the sex and eye candy just got annoying to watch after a while because 100 Girls insists you get a full synopsis of every inch of the female body, but its descriptions were constructed worse than a game of Mad Libs so nothing about it sounded sensual and sincere at all. It was like if there was a “Sex Ed” unit in my first grade vocabulary class, that’s pretty much what it would have sounded like.
It’s amazing to think that I would have rather preferred abysmal horror over the blubbering, Bill and Ted meets National Lampoon, copy/paste scripted, teleprompter read, disaster production that is 100 Girls, but at least that movie knew what it was trying to accomplish and I didn’t have to stop periodically because I was feeling physically ill, probably from slamming my head against the wall so many times screaming “there’s nothing attractive about the phrase ‘Golden Orbs’ so stop fucking using it!” Matthew’s journey didn’t matter, the ending didn’t matter, by the middle of it, you lose so much respect for this little dirtbag that you actually feel bad for any girl that crosses paths with him, let alone the one who destiny has apparently decided he’s meant to be with. I was hoping for a deleted scene or alternate ending where the movie fast forwards to the next day where he gets dumped by his dream girl because he won’t stop analyzing why we park on driveways and drive on parkways.
But then again, I am anxious to see the sequel: John Tucker Must Die. This moronic film doesn’t even deserve to be in my collection, I don’t want to look at it anymore other than as a shattered, bubbled up, participation trophy that I survived this movie and had enough brain power to still work a microwave. Because, with the worst pick out of the box so far, I can’t even grade this in dustbusters, because that assumes it will live to collect dust another day. 100 Girls gets the illustrious 1 microwave out of 1. This fucker can fry.
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