AT THE CLOSE of a summer that brought us The Ugly Truth(bleurgh!) and Fired Up(bleurgh! bleurgh!), you'd think that there'd be little worth saying about a film called Miss March: Generation Penetration(Mom, I need another bucket) that hasn't already been said at least twice before.
Certainly, these two young idiots driving across the US for sex are no more irritating than those in Fired Up. The casual misogyny is, if anything, slightly less revolting, than that in The Ugly Truth. The joke about an epileptic performing oral sex is certainly offensive, but no more offensive than the alleged film-makers intended.
No, it's the characters' cultural frame of reference that seems most remarkable. Miss Marchfollows the heroes as they travel towards the Playboy Mansion, where Hugh Hefner is entertaining the less moronic one's centrefold-posing girlfriend.
Playboy? Bunnies? Hugh Hefner? Is this what the kids are into these days? Why, it’s like watching a film in which the stars, donning ruffs and codpieces, seek to emulate the hip, contemporary style of Sir Walter Raleigh.
Anyway, Miss Marchis utter garbage. But you've probably seen worse within the last six months.
