My Defective Life

Reasons you should hate this movie:

The making out/sex scenes: Scary and injurious-looking, and not in a good type S&M-sorta way. Slamming Ken and Barbie together in a plasticky simulation of sex does not translate well when using real people, where it just ends up looking like someone's gonna end up chipping a tooth.

The name of the stereotypically rednecky, abusive, sex-obsessed, controlling husband: Earl. Creative.

Keri Russell. She is seriously so irritating that she makes me wish my eyes would scab over.

Jeremy Sisto. I once had a dream that you fucked me up against the freezer door at the McDonald's where we were both apparently employed, Jeremy Sisto. Despite the gross fast-food theme, it was a *good* dream. One of the better sex dreams I've had. The kind that continued to make my toes curl just a little if I happened to walk past the tv and hear your voice. Enough so that it even came up in conversation recently with the very same people who pinned me down and forced me to watch this movie. So seriously: how could you do this to me, corrupting that exquisite memory with your HORRIBLY generic vision of the abusive rage-aholic redneck husband with the terrible southern accent? Even though you are super-hot on the new Law and Order episodes, I'm still not quite sure I'll ever recover.

Is there ANYone who DOESN'T cheat on their significant other down south? If I'm to believe this movie, the answer is No no hell the fuck no.

What makes the illicit affair hot and believable in a movie is the build-up, the slowly-accruing tension of bodies just a LITTLE bit too close to one another and lingering just a bit too long there, the hand held on the arm long after it should've been removed, the sizzling eye contact. What does NOT make an illicit affair hot is a complete absence of any sort of connection or sexual tension between two horribly boring people until suddenly one jumps the other and you have a Freddy Krueger jump-out-of-your-seat moment because you KNEW it was coming, and yet there was absolutely nothing to prepare you that it would be that sudden.

Nobody in real life gets lipstick smeared all over their face when they're having an affair. And if by some odd chance they do, they remember to wipe it off. Keri Russell. I'm talking to you.

Nobody hates the prospect of having a baby THAT much and yet still has it. Nobody. And assuming that I'm wrong and there IS somebody out there who DOES, they most DEFINITELY end up leaving it in a garbage can at a sports game and in NO WAY SHAPE OR MANNER end up having a total change of heart and falling madly in love with the baby just because it shot head-first out of their lady-parts.

There are people down south, Keri Russell, who know how to speak without using the words "ain't." Crazy. And yet true.

Just knowing that somebody thought up a song with the following lyrics, had it sung twice throughout the movie, and then topped that off by having it play over the credits, is just further proof that there is no god:

"Baby don't you cry, gonna make a pie, gonna make a pie with a heart in the middle. Baby don't be blue, gonna make for you, gonna make a pie with a heart in the middle. Gonna make a pie from heaven above, gonna be filled with strawberry love. Baby don't you cry, gonna make a pie, and hold you forever in the middle of my heart. "

Keri Russell, what is up with that scene where you just creepily smile for like 20 minutes? I almost included this movie on my horror movie blog because it's been a while since something has managed to chill me to my very core as completely as that scene did.

Where are you walking to at the end, Kerri Russell? I don't get it. I mean, clearly it's "off into the distance," but why? Have you no car or other mode of transportation? Especially when you have a young child and you're walking in the middle of a country-road where you KNOW some semi is gonna come barreling by and make roadkill out of you? Perhaps you accidentally wandered off onto that country road because you were dreamily and distractedly contemplating pie again in that "charming" way you have which makes us want to pause and say:

"Waitress Makes Me Want to Kill Myself Pie... You take plastic-acting and sweeten it with the cold hard stare of endless boredom. You make it into a pudding and drown it in caramel."

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