By Brian Prisco | Film | September 29, 2010 |
By Brian Prisco | Film | September 29, 2010 |
Swing and a fucking miss! The Virginity Hit is the latest incarnation of the “gotta get laid” Chicken Ladyesque pledge of a group of four high school misfit boys who decide they all must immediately cash in those V-Cards like Blockbuster gift cards. Only the twist is the entire thing is being constantly video-taped and posted to YouTube. I don’t understand the sudden rash of faux-cumentary style narrative with comedies and horror films, but it’s about as welcome as a prom night period flow. The cast consists of a bunch of hybrid mash-ups of other popular sex-com stock, and other than the sketching they give on the main no-hump chump character, everyone exists primarily as a punchline. Unless you count the fat kid, who just won’t shut the fuck up. For a sex comedy, it sharply veers into extremely morbid and painfully sentimental drama like a suicidal cabbie. By the time the film finally lumbers over every zany and contrived gimmick to its preposterous fourth-grade nothing of an ending, you’re kind of stunned at how incredibly boring the trip was. If Virginity Hit was what it was being sold as — the true adventures of a bunch of wacky teen YouTube filmmakers making a documentary about getting their last friend laid — it might be forgivable. But it’s actually a carefully-crafted improv ruse written and directed by Huck Botko and Andrew Gurland, the dudes who “wrote” The Last Exorcism (another motherfucking faux-cumentary), and produced by the Funny or Die team. With that much juice behind this, you think you’d have a stronger flick, but this cherry is the fucking pits. That’s how bad this fucking movie is, it deserves a goddamn pun like that.
The characters have names, but I’m going to write them as I imagine they were listed in the casting call. We’ve got our lead, Matt Bennett, a Jason Biggs sexually violated by Woody Allen that I shall dub Big Woody. There’s his adoptive stepbrother (and oh,buddy, when I tell you that story), Zack Pearlman, who resembles a combination of that kid made of plastic that played the younger brother in Son-in-Law and that weird fat jewfro guy who stars in that terrible fourth wall comedy on Comedy Central. I shall call him Clonah Hill. They’ve got a friend named Justin, who acts exactly like Pedro from Napoleon Dynamite and Martin Starr from “Party Down.” He’s P-Starr. And then there’s Jacob, who’s basically Old Whatsherface. That’ll do. I’d name some of the female characters, but why bother? They exist solely as drunk girls at parties or as potential fuck partners.
Anyway, Big Woody, Clonah Hill, P-Starr, and Old Whatsherface buy this jumbo naked devil titty bong that looks like what Rob Zombie smokes out of when he thinks he can be a filmmaker, too. I think Old Whatsherface just got laid, so they decide they will only smoke from Thunderkiss ‘65 when one of them taps that ass. In short succession, each of these mouth breathers manages to find a Cyrus-sapling dipshit enough to drop trou and let them sweat and grunt for a good seven minutes. It helps if you have that much constant and abundant access to drugs and alcohol. I understand high school students will party, but these kids were like Spring Break in international waters. I fervently awaited a monkey knife fight to break out. Neither a honky tonk nor a strip club will they be carded, and they might look sixteen in a suit on a good day. And then, of course, they’d videotape it. Apparently, Clonah Hill fancies himself a filmmaker, so they constantly shoot footage of themselves and post it to YouTube. It’s the cinematic equivalent of the Facebook News Feed.
And that’s the problem. For no apparent reason, one of them is always filming. The entire thing is shot like one of those Channel 4 sting operations against a shady automotive repair shop. Which might have worked, if the entire thing wasn’t plotted exactly like every other wacky sex romp. First, most of these coming of age stories at least have B stories for the supporting characters. Usually, it’s more than one pubescent attempting to pound dat pussy. Here, we’re just following the horn-rimmed adventures of Big Woody and his pesky sidekick Chastity. Second, he starts out with a steady girlfriend of two years, who’s more hot and ready than a fucking Ham and Cheese Hot Pocket. Third, I’d forgive the fucking CloverPorky’s film style if it were filled with shenaniganesque obstacles like the 40-Year-Old Virgin. But this is about a 15-Year-Old Virgin. Which isn’t news. It’s a Magic: The Gathering tournament.
The sexual escapades fail on so many levels. How they handle the women in the film is flat-out fucking tragic. The trim these schmucks are pulling in makes me regret not taking up drugs in high school. These are not handsome lads. Yet they are constantly surrounded by scantily clad beautiful young girls who let them make out with them. It’s like if “Gossip Girl” was set at the Tri-Lamb’s frat in Revenge of the Nerds. INCONCEIVABLE! Believe me when I say I understand that an unattractive male can attain an attractive female. I’m not just the president of that club, I’m a fucking client. But, seriously. Even Joe Francis has to give out T-shirts. These guys are constantly posting YouTube clips of themselves trying to get laid while doing shots of vodka. You’d think some parent in New Orleans would understand how the Interwebs work. Still, the fact that they plan on attempting to record and videotape — and eventually broadcast — a teen girl on the internet would probably be frowned on by their chosen IP at the very least. But it’s cool. Girls aren’t really people with feelings and thoughts. They’re things you stick vodka and your dick in, maybe.
I’m overthinking this, I realize. But frankly, I had time to, what with all the goddamn gapping. It’s the longest 86 minutes ever, because there are so many moments where the kids are just talking to the camera and plotting their next move. It’s like an awkward version of Jackass, only nothing blows up or crashes. The amount of time and money and effort spent, you’d think Big Woody would just go out and buy a fucking hooker. Which, he eventually kind of does. This fucking plot involves explosive hotel diarrhea, pseudo incest, crotch shaving, tranny blow-up dolls, and a porn star’s tits. Honestly, it’d be more believable if he fucked a blueberry buckle with a trombone sticking out of his ass. Weirdest of all, the way the end credits run, you’re made to believe that the entire faux-cumentary was actually just supposed to be a fictional account created by the Superzack1000 Film Troupe consisting of the four boys and the sister. Which makes it doubly weird that it’s a fake film faking a fake documentary. I think typing that sentence just made me the new Doctor Who.
What bothers me most is that I can’t tell if Botko and Gurland were trying to make the film shitty on purpose — to replicate what it would actually be like if four teen boys were given camcorders to go buck fucking wild trying to buck their non-fucking. I just don’t care about any of these kids, and I’m sad that any of them were actually allowed near vaginas. The most bizarre part is the film isn’t offensively godawful. It’s just really boring. If you were to watch it, you wouldn’t feel scorned or cheated like those wretched American Pie Presents or National Lampoon’s Poontang Posse shitflix. It’s just really, incredibly boring. It’s like someone telling you the story of how they lost their virginity. Unless you’re next in line to get fucked, you don’t give one.