Like all nostalgia movies, Shag is dull, self-indulgent m@sturb@tion filmed off a script cobbled from a college freshman's diary. I mean, Terry Sweeney, come on now. Doesn't he/she/it always rank at the bottom of those ''SNL Cast Members: First to Worst" lists?
It's like watching a boring family's home movies, but the movies are all about the parents when they were teenagers 30+ years ago.
Characters so obxnoxiously smug, white and upper middle class it makes you cheer for the Vietnam draft. Or at least some bl#ck kids to come along and introduce some rock and roll music. Well, OK, there's some of that super-safe 50s and 60s MOR garbage from bl#ck artists in the soundtrack, but all it does is serve to accentuate how dull and white the characters are.
There's nothing funny here. Nothing dramatic. No discernible plot. And considering how much sorta-making out they imply is going on, it has about as much s3x appeal as a weekday morning mass.
When the four girls are singing acapella on the front of the fancy house I nearly barfed. And then, wammo, a bl#ck singer appears on the screen. Just in time for the credits to roll and for his band - or were those waiters - to sing and dance toward the camera in a way that is reminiscent of Stepnfetchit shtick from 40s movies.
I'm white and I was mortified.
It's like watching a boring family's home movies, but the movies are all about the parents when they were teenagers 30+ years ago.
Characters so obxnoxiously smug, white and upper middle class it makes you cheer for the Vietnam draft. Or at least some bl#ck kids to come along and introduce some rock and roll music. Well, OK, there's some of that super-safe 50s and 60s MOR garbage from bl#ck artists in the soundtrack, but all it does is serve to accentuate how dull and white the characters are.
There's nothing funny here. Nothing dramatic. No discernible plot. And considering how much sorta-making out they imply is going on, it has about as much s3x appeal as a weekday morning mass.
When the four girls are singing acapella on the front of the fancy house I nearly barfed. And then, wammo, a bl#ck singer appears on the screen. Just in time for the credits to roll and for his band - or were those waiters - to sing and dance toward the camera in a way that is reminiscent of Stepnfetchit shtick from 40s movies.
I'm white and I was mortified.