Bondi Beach, Sydney, NSW c. 2002

Wed, 11 Mar 2009 7:27 AM (GMT+0000)

I just watched the strangest movie ever. It wasn't Lynch- or Cronenberg-strange. Those dudes try too hard to be weird. No, it was strange because it didn't know its own strangeness. It didn't think itself weird, which made it that much creepier.

I generally have a hard time walking away from movies. No matter how bad they are, I can't let them go until I know for sure they're unsalvageable. Usually that means I end up sticking with them until the credits. Except when it's just about the sex, of course. After ten minutes, I was almost convinced that 100 Girls was just porn, despite the 2.7 stars Netflix said I'd give it and the "honesty" the synopsis said it had. If I had known Larisa and Katherine were cast as lesbians with a kissing scene, I probably would have waited it out for weeks (and have been even more disappointed by the reality). I think I'm sort of glad I stuck it out, even though I'm not sure what really happened. Maybe I learned something.

The weirdness of this movie is that it's like Mouseketeers crossed with soft-core. It's Disneymax. It's Skinsney. It's like turning on Nickelodeon and seeing Double Penetration instead of Double Dare. There are all these familiar things like pestilential inner monologues, bad dialogues, and hackneyed clichés, and yet there seems to be something real in it once you look past the sex. I'm just not sure what it is yet.


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