'Dirty Love'


Dirty Love
Directed by John Asher
Written by Jenny McCarthy
FirstLook, opens September 23
Should we be worried about Jenny McCarthy? In the course of John Asher's excruciatingly inept Dirty Love, the perpetual bimbo-ingenue has her breasts vomited on, wallows in a lake of her menstrual blood in a supermarket produce aisle, verbally abuses her sculpted-to-within-an-inch-of-its-life body, and is subjected to character assassination and/or sexual humiliation by a succession of prodigiously moussed dorks. And she wrote the screenplay. A kind of Sex and the City for L.A. bottom-feeders awash in clichéd, self-loathing misogyny that would make Howard Stern flinch, Dirty Love posits McCarthy as a fashion photographer coming to terms with romance after her model boyfriend gives her the heave-ho. A trio of pals ostensibly helps, including Carmen Electra, wielding the most embarrassing faux ghetto patois this side of the Hamptons. It's impossible not to read this post-post-feminist atrocity as a cry for help, but to what end? The only possible rationale behind McCarthy's painfully public self-immolation comes in her pathetic midfilm plea, "Please tell me I don't smell like puke anymore." God, I wish I could.

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