2002 romantic drama
Rating: 1/20 (Libby: 2/20; Josh: 1/20; Fred: 3/20; Jeremy: Did not make it to the end. Complained that the movie was "sucking the life out of" him; Carrie: 11/20)
Plot: All the titular duo want is to be allowed to get married. They face threats from Arthur's brother, Ben's ex-wife, and the church.
Here's the movie that has convinced my mother that I'm now into gay porn. But you know what? It's totally worth it because I--a lover of terrible movies--might not see a worse movie this year. And for that, I have Sam Mraovich to thank. Sam Mraovich proudly displays his name during the opening credits about forty-three times. He directs! He stars! He collaborates on the music! He cinematographies! He edits! He casts! He produces! He executive produces! He writes! I went ahead and counted the amount of times the name Sam Mraovich appears in the credits, credits over a swirling burgundies and oranges with the familiar sounds of "The Entertainer." It's eleven fucking times. Eleven! I think "Catering by Sam Mraovich" was even in there somewhere. This is completely Sam Mraovich's baby, a grotesque baby that's the product of a guy sexually abusing himself. Sam Mraovich can't do any of the things he credits himself with even adequately, and that makes this a Room-esque experience, as frightening as it is magical. There's the story, heavy on the message "If I am not good enough to get married in this country, then I sure as hell ain't dying for it!") and taken to such bizarre extremes that you'll assume the writer has been whacked a little too hard with his dildo a few too many times. Sure, the wife of a guy who suddenly decides he's gay and in love with a dumpy, balding gentleman is going to be unhappy, but the particular brand of berserk she displays before abruptly leaving the movie never to be seen again doesn't make sense at all. And yes, religious people persecuting homosexuals is completely believable, but excommunicating a poor guy because of the actions of his brother or helping a member of the congregation to hire a hit man? And sure, religious people could be labeled superstitious, but a scene where brother Victor tapes a vial of holy water to Arthur's door with the hopes that he'll see it, drink it for some reason, and be cured of gayness is about the stupidest thing I've ever seen in a movie. And I'm not going to give away the weirdo ending or anything, but suffice it to say, there's a naked baptism, gunshots, and bungled incest. The actors, obviously all people who are friends of Sam Mraovich (Possible exception would be Jamie Brett Gabel who plays Ben and looks a little too pretty to be real-life friends with Mraovich; my guess would be that he just wanted to be an actor and was using this as a springboard into something bigger. Of course, I'm probably wrong since he's done nothing else since this.), don't have much to work with, but they're awful from top to bottom. I was surprised to see that Michael Haboush, the guy who played the brother, has been in over fifty movies including a few with exclamation marks--Vapid Shallow Models Must Die! and Naked Boys Singing! I'm not sure I want to verify this for fear of further alarming my mother, but I'm pretty sure a lot of the titles in his filmography qualify as gay porn. He also plays a transvestite in Nip/Tuck, and his first role, all the way back in 1977, was as "Kid Eating Hotdog" in The Fish That Saved Pittsburgh. If you like terrible acting, this has plenty to enjoy. Bill Hindley as Father Rabin, Gina Aguilar who gets a great death scene as the duo's attorney, Arthur Huber as a P.I. who shines in about a minute-and-a-half of screen time, and Loretta Altman who plays my favorite character Mildread, a woman who doesn't want coffee and then does want coffee and then later has a door slammed in her face in a scene that made me laugh out loud. Mildread. I can't decide if that name is a spelling error or an attempt at punning. But seriously, what actor can do something with dialogue like this:
Ben: Tammy, I'm gay. I've already told you that.
Tammy (with a gun, by the way): Ben, I'll be gay, too, and then that'll make it all right for us to get married again.
Ben: You are not making any sense!
Tammy: Hey! I don't make sense? You don't make sense! I make sense, that's who makes sense!
Of course, that could be ad-libbed. If it was, it was more than likely ad-libbed by Sam Mraovich since he did everything else. I have to assume he was in charge of the set design, my favorite setting being Victor's church where the priest sits in a folding chair at a folding card table that has a can of colored pencils on it. Those colored pencils might have been half the budget for this thing actually. He's in front of a really weird picture of Jesus that a child probably drew in his sixth grade art class and stained glass window painted on the cardboard. It's impossible to judge which of the many things Mraovich does poorly is the worst, but the acting has to be right up there. Although I will say this: There's a scene where he talks about opening his own porno shop and gives this little smile that's capable of haunting any homophobe's dreams, another scene where he prances, another scene where he prances again, and a scene where he does this little interpretative dance while auditioning for a job at a club ("That was great. Now let's see your penis.") that will all make you wonder why he's only been in two other movies since this one. This is a magical mess of a movie that ranks up there as one of the worst movies I've ever seen. I'm not sure I can recommend it to anybody not watching with a group of friends on Facebook unless you're a real glutton for punishment though. I don't know how we Bad Movie Clubbers can top this, our 47th bad movie.
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