Speed dating movie trailer
It could be a little tighter, but the film doesn’t drag and it’s a fun watch.by Nick Pinkerton September 29, 2010 / we meet Too Cool, Dog, and Beaver (Wesley Jonathan, Chico Benymon, and Leonard Robinson), their partnership revolves around trumping up elaborate schemes to find, mate with, and briskly dispose of women.If you're going to talk high tech, get the language down first, since this script reveals ignorance beyond big data and wop wop. is that type of vile cultural product that adds more fuel to a mediascape already saturated with sexism travestied in mere horniness. If I had it my way I would direct or be in front of the camera doing what I’m doing. Producing is something I was kind of forced to do trying to get my own stuff going.It’s invested in the same project—excusing heterosexual males’ objectification of women as a commendable and natural necessity—as something like .
True to bromantic form, the bachelors grow up into true love with nice-looking actresses; along the way, “suspected man-tickler” Beaver confronts obsessively voiced suspicions of same-sex inclinations, there’s some stuff about saving a restaurant, and Too Cool reconciles with his birth mother and senile millionaire aunt (who made her fortune designing ! Tender, meaningful eye contact alternates screentime with cartoon detours, including Chris Elliott as a blue-skinned building inspector named Red Green, Clint “Why not?
I wasn’t 100% onboard with the film’s score, which dips into “Home Alone” territory with some of the music cues, and some of the acting from the non-leads can be pretty painful to watch, though the film does establish an over-the-top style early on that makes the lesser talented actors seem less like they’re trying too hard.
I mean, it’s tricky to decipher: is an acting performance poor because the actor is going for over-the-top, or is everyone else just doing over-the-top better?
The group of friends runs the speed-dating soiree as a scheme so that they can handpick the women allowed to participate and control who gets matched up with who.
This system rigged by men, in which women are passed around as stupid, gullible gifts that just keep on giving and heterosexual sex is always some kind of rape has been poetically depicted in Ian Mc Ewan’s novel , and philosophically in Gayle Rubin’s essay “The Traffic in Women.” But here all we get is the naturalization of the grotesquerie of that system (“Women are programmed to say no, even if they like you,” Dog warns us), which is played for laughs.
While the women for consumption on display come in different shapes, sizes, and races, the local club appears as the only space for sociality for African-American men, who turn taking advantage of women’s bodies and women’s bank accounts (they live off of a rich aunt suffering from Alzheimer’s) into their fulltime job.