Backing my courageous assertion that I must watch everything and anything I come across, here is From Justin to Kelly. This 2003 "musical" is one of the worst movies I've ever seen. Penned by Kim Fuller, the brother of American Idol creator Simon Fuller, From Justin to Kelly features Kelly Clarkson and Justin Guarini partying it up during one of the lamest spring breaks on record.
Is this some sort of elaborate joke? Can a movie actually be this bad? What the hell is Clarkson wearing? Why, dear Jesus, why?
Clarkson stars in this catastrophe as some sort of downhome Texas waitress named Kelly. She's the most conservative of her three friends. The other two are flat stereotypes: one is a shifty and confusingly manipulative blonde girl (Katherine Bailess) and the other is the token black friend (Anika Noni Rose). The two girls convince Kelly that she needs to take some time off from singing and waiting tables in this bar, so they head to Fort Lauderdale.
In Fort Lauderdale, Guarini is the inventively-named Justin. See? Justin and Kelly, just like on TV! Justin is some sort of party promoter and he also hangs out with two stereotypes: a nerd (Brian Dietzen) meeting a girl from the enchanted and apparently still profound internet and some buff loser (Greg Siff). Justin and Kelly "meet" in a stupid dance number and fall in love, but the confusingly manipulative blonde "friend" of Kelly's gets in the way. Will Justin and Kelly overcome the befuddling text messages and strange overtures?
From Justin to Kelly plays out like a teen movie written and produced by people who were teens about 78 years ago. There's this preposterous attempt to "understand" teen culture, but this drivel makes High School Musical look like Gone with the Wind. There are "dance" numbers, "songs" and "song-and-dance" numbers. The stereotypes fit in the right places and the movie's obligatory scoundrel turns out to be a Machiavellian curiosity that still leaves as one of Kelly's best friends.
The "songs" in From Justin to Kelly are bad. The "dancing" is bad. The "acting" is bad. The "screenplay" is bad. The "characters" are bad. The "scenery" is bad. The "camerawork" is bad. The "direction" is bad. The "titles" are bad. The "end credits" are bad. Any "animal actors" are bad. The "food" is bad. Everything, and I mean everything, is bad.
Brandon, the aforementioned buff loser, raps. The nerd meets a strange- looking girl from the internet. Kelly and Justin sing on a boat. Kelly sings a song holding her purse walking down the beach after leaving a bar without her purse. There's a bald steroid freak, apparently, and a dude that looks to be about 45 hanging around moaning about losing his girlfriend to somebody he never lost his girlfriend to. There's a whipped cream bikini contest that isn't the least bit interesting. Seriously.
This is spring break zaniness for the Disney set, an imagined and hopeful view of what people in their twenties are up to when all bets are off and the night can cover the sins of the day. Hannah Montana is more hedonistic. Or so I've heard.
At the end of the day, I found myself somewhat proud of the grand achievement of having made it through From Justin to Kelly. I felt like I had accomplished something spectacular, like I had really done the world some sort of service. Any of my other failings were quickly glossed over by the realization that I made it. Any sense of inadequacy was gone. I made it. I lived to tell.
Is this some sort of elaborate joke? Can a movie actually be this bad? What the hell is Clarkson wearing? Why, dear Jesus, why?
Clarkson stars in this catastrophe as some sort of downhome Texas waitress named Kelly. She's the most conservative of her three friends. The other two are flat stereotypes: one is a shifty and confusingly manipulative blonde girl (Katherine Bailess) and the other is the token black friend (Anika Noni Rose). The two girls convince Kelly that she needs to take some time off from singing and waiting tables in this bar, so they head to Fort Lauderdale.
In Fort Lauderdale, Guarini is the inventively-named Justin. See? Justin and Kelly, just like on TV! Justin is some sort of party promoter and he also hangs out with two stereotypes: a nerd (Brian Dietzen) meeting a girl from the enchanted and apparently still profound internet and some buff loser (Greg Siff). Justin and Kelly "meet" in a stupid dance number and fall in love, but the confusingly manipulative blonde "friend" of Kelly's gets in the way. Will Justin and Kelly overcome the befuddling text messages and strange overtures?
From Justin to Kelly plays out like a teen movie written and produced by people who were teens about 78 years ago. There's this preposterous attempt to "understand" teen culture, but this drivel makes High School Musical look like Gone with the Wind. There are "dance" numbers, "songs" and "song-and-dance" numbers. The stereotypes fit in the right places and the movie's obligatory scoundrel turns out to be a Machiavellian curiosity that still leaves as one of Kelly's best friends.
The "songs" in From Justin to Kelly are bad. The "dancing" is bad. The "acting" is bad. The "screenplay" is bad. The "characters" are bad. The "scenery" is bad. The "camerawork" is bad. The "direction" is bad. The "titles" are bad. The "end credits" are bad. Any "animal actors" are bad. The "food" is bad. Everything, and I mean everything, is bad.
Brandon, the aforementioned buff loser, raps. The nerd meets a strange- looking girl from the internet. Kelly and Justin sing on a boat. Kelly sings a song holding her purse walking down the beach after leaving a bar without her purse. There's a bald steroid freak, apparently, and a dude that looks to be about 45 hanging around moaning about losing his girlfriend to somebody he never lost his girlfriend to. There's a whipped cream bikini contest that isn't the least bit interesting. Seriously.
This is spring break zaniness for the Disney set, an imagined and hopeful view of what people in their twenties are up to when all bets are off and the night can cover the sins of the day. Hannah Montana is more hedonistic. Or so I've heard.
At the end of the day, I found myself somewhat proud of the grand achievement of having made it through From Justin to Kelly. I felt like I had accomplished something spectacular, like I had really done the world some sort of service. Any of my other failings were quickly glossed over by the realization that I made it. Any sense of inadequacy was gone. I made it. I lived to tell.