Death to the Supermodels

January 16, 2007

While I appreciate the idea of supermodels having toxic booty gas, nappy underarm hair and hidden penises, it’s just not enough to base a movie on.

The world’s five top supermodels travel to a remote tropical island for a photo shoot, where they get picked off by a serial killer. Is it the annoyingly perky magazine editor? Is it one of the Siegfried and Roy-esque fashion photographers? Or could it be one of the remaining models, secretly harboring a hidden agenda?

I prefer bitchy and evil Jaime Pressly to perky and neurotic Jaime Pressly. It’s just not fun. You know who’s good at perky and neurotic? Parker Posey. She alone could have made this film a cult classic. It could have been another Psycho Beach Party, which coincidentally also stars Kimberley Davies.

How little I cared about the ending was surprisingly proportionate to how much sense it made. It seems that the writer of the film just didn’t give a shit about denouement and wrote a quick scene explaining the murders while taking a particularly horrible Taco Bell dump. So the film ended up being one big Rosie O’Donnell dyke joke. That’s what I get for picking a movie soley based on the appearance of Wee Man.