I must have missed the boat somewhere.
In its opening moments, 'Spread' bills Ashton Kutcher as an object of uncontrollable lust - he quickly and effortlessly beds the affluent character portrayed by Anne Heche and then proceeds to make her his sugarmamma; in voice-over Kutcher play-by-plays the finer points of his pick-up artistry while screwing a bevy of other Los Angeles babes (many of whom he is able to bang without fear of any reprisal, inexplicably, from Heche, who is confusingly low on self esteem - more about that in a minute). I got lost quickly in terms of comprehending how or why Kutcher, who prances around throughout the film looking like a campy homosexual in suspenders and little earrings, is understood to be such a smouldering sex symbol, and moreover, that I am just going to buy into this conceit with a straight face. I doubt I was supposed to laugh out loud during several awkwardly explicit sex scenes that proudly advertise Kutcher's O-face, but I did anyway.
The victims of this bizarre Kutcher adonis appropriation are the women he encounters. All of the girls he seduces during the first half of the film, especially Heche, come off as pathetic, thoughtless tramps - if we can't buy what the flick is selling about Ashton, what does that say about the girls he nails? The first time Heche catches him 'cheating' on her, we expect the crappola to hit the fan; instead, she gets aroused and has sex with him. Seriously? Their relationship is played off at points as some kind of torrid affair, but during a scene where Heche tosses designer clothes at Kutcher and he looks on with what is (assumedly) supposed to be darkness and angst, we are pressed to wonder how many takes it took for him to do it without cracking up.
Nevermind the derivative, unimaginative story and the all-too-predictable comeuppance moralizing that happens in the second half. And I would be grateful if anyone can answer me about just what in the hell is going on with any or all of the following: a sequence where Heche has Kutcher mysteriously drive her to the hospital for an overnight stay, later revealed to have been for vaginal reconstructive surgery; an encounter Kutcher has with a former lay in a grocery store, midday, only to find out the girl is tanked and needs to pull over on the drive home to throw up; and, once again, Kutcher's wardrobe, especially one scene where his suspenders and a black-and-white striped shirt make him look like a street mime - is this 'style' considered trendy and hip in LA these days? (And if so, god help us.) When Ashton finally hits bottom and resorts to selling off his Gucci clothes at a pawnshop only to throw a hissy fit outside on the street - not sure how I was supposed to react to this (I laughed) - it really gets driven home that we are watching Kelso from That 70's Show try to 'act'... and it doesn't work.
Is all of this supposed to be taken ironically or seen as some kind of contemporary social commentary? If so, I had trouble reading it that way, and I think most of the credit for that is due to the headliner. Maybe if Ashton Kutcher himself was in any way relevant over the last few years beyond Demi Moore/douchebag jokes, coming into this film an audience might more properly be able to frame the experience. Sadly, the end result is all too tragically similar to the degrading way the girls in the film come off: utterly pathetic.
In its opening moments, 'Spread' bills Ashton Kutcher as an object of uncontrollable lust - he quickly and effortlessly beds the affluent character portrayed by Anne Heche and then proceeds to make her his sugarmamma; in voice-over Kutcher play-by-plays the finer points of his pick-up artistry while screwing a bevy of other Los Angeles babes (many of whom he is able to bang without fear of any reprisal, inexplicably, from Heche, who is confusingly low on self esteem - more about that in a minute). I got lost quickly in terms of comprehending how or why Kutcher, who prances around throughout the film looking like a campy homosexual in suspenders and little earrings, is understood to be such a smouldering sex symbol, and moreover, that I am just going to buy into this conceit with a straight face. I doubt I was supposed to laugh out loud during several awkwardly explicit sex scenes that proudly advertise Kutcher's O-face, but I did anyway.
The victims of this bizarre Kutcher adonis appropriation are the women he encounters. All of the girls he seduces during the first half of the film, especially Heche, come off as pathetic, thoughtless tramps - if we can't buy what the flick is selling about Ashton, what does that say about the girls he nails? The first time Heche catches him 'cheating' on her, we expect the crappola to hit the fan; instead, she gets aroused and has sex with him. Seriously? Their relationship is played off at points as some kind of torrid affair, but during a scene where Heche tosses designer clothes at Kutcher and he looks on with what is (assumedly) supposed to be darkness and angst, we are pressed to wonder how many takes it took for him to do it without cracking up.
Nevermind the derivative, unimaginative story and the all-too-predictable comeuppance moralizing that happens in the second half. And I would be grateful if anyone can answer me about just what in the hell is going on with any or all of the following: a sequence where Heche has Kutcher mysteriously drive her to the hospital for an overnight stay, later revealed to have been for vaginal reconstructive surgery; an encounter Kutcher has with a former lay in a grocery store, midday, only to find out the girl is tanked and needs to pull over on the drive home to throw up; and, once again, Kutcher's wardrobe, especially one scene where his suspenders and a black-and-white striped shirt make him look like a street mime - is this 'style' considered trendy and hip in LA these days? (And if so, god help us.) When Ashton finally hits bottom and resorts to selling off his Gucci clothes at a pawnshop only to throw a hissy fit outside on the street - not sure how I was supposed to react to this (I laughed) - it really gets driven home that we are watching Kelso from That 70's Show try to 'act'... and it doesn't work.
Is all of this supposed to be taken ironically or seen as some kind of contemporary social commentary? If so, I had trouble reading it that way, and I think most of the credit for that is due to the headliner. Maybe if Ashton Kutcher himself was in any way relevant over the last few years beyond Demi Moore/douchebag jokes, coming into this film an audience might more properly be able to frame the experience. Sadly, the end result is all too tragically similar to the degrading way the girls in the film come off: utterly pathetic.