Gustave told me the book is way better, so I scampered over to Half.com to order it, but…man. I have such a girl-crush on Angelina Jolie. I. LOVE. Her. The movie is pretty bad, and yet it’s good anyway, because of The Jolie. It’s also good because, every time I said out loud to the cats, “God, this movie is bad. How did this get made, anyway,” literally two seconds later they’d cut to The Jolie sticking her hand into Elizabeth Mitchell’s crotch, like, “Oh. Right.” Hee. My favorite part: Gia’s all high at a shoot, and she’s dressed as a Japanese princess or something, and Chuck Zito rides up next to the shoot on his motorcycle, and she gets on it and rides off with him to go downtown to score more junk, and presumably the shoot is in Manhattan and she’s going to the Lower East Side, which should take twenty minutes tops, but she’s on the motorcycle for, seriously, six hours, and they keep doing time-lapse shots of her nodding out on the back and almost barfing all over Chuck Zito (who is sort of semi-hot, like, what’s THAT about) and it’s so so random, and then Gia staggers into a shooting gallery that looks like the set of The Jamie Kennedy Experiment in her geisha outfit and she’s screaming “I’m SICK, I’m SICK, WHERE’S SATELLITE, anybody here HOLDING” and it’s just completely out there. And Mercedes Ruehl in this movie is the accent equivalent of the teen joy-riders on World’s Wildest Police Videos. It’s Philly WHOA it’s the Bronx WHOA helloooooo Cleveland! File under “crappy crap I can never stop watching when it’s on” (see also: Malice, While You Were Sleeping).

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