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Recently in Salon Arts & Entertainment

Music Review
Sharps & Flats
The Knitters broke from X and the Blasters to find classic country. A new slew of alt-country bands is repaying the favor.
By Brett Anderson
[10/26/99]

Music Review
Sharps & Flats
Afro-European world music queen Marie Daulne and Zap Mama travel from Mother Earth music novelty to international hip-hop group.
By Banning Eyre
[10/25/99]

Art history 101
Legendary arts educator Philip Yenawine talks about the effrontery of art collectors, irresponsible artists and the willful ignorance of the average American male.
By Danya Ruttenberg
[10/25/99]

Movie Review
"Crazy in Alabama"
Antonio Banderas directs his wife, Melanie Griffith, in this little morsel of easily digestible nostalgia.
By Mary Elizabeth Williams
[10/22/99]

Movie Review
"Bringing Out the Dead"
Scorsese's manic, well-acted paramedic pic needs a fast ride back to the E.R.
By Stephanie Zacharek
[10/22/99]

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This, uh, ensemble piece about sex and dating among a group of young L.A. professionals wants to appeal to people in their 20s the way "American Pie" or "Cruel Intentions" appealed to teenagers. But the movie is singularly devoid of both the former's charm and canniness, and the latter's dirty-minded sense of fun. You'd have to go back to "Looking for Mr. Goodbar" to find such a grim, sour view of single life.

Body Shots Directed by Michael Cristofer Starring Tara Reid, Jerry O'Connell, Amanda Peet, Sean Patrick Flanery and Emily Procter

Ultimately, "Body Shots" reveals itself as a pipsqueak "Rashomon," dealing with the he said-she said versions of an accusation of date rape. But even before it gets there, the movie paints such a predatory view of the singles scene that I half expected every flirtation, every raised hemline to be interrupted by the "Lost in Space" robot yelling "Danger! Danger!"

You listen to these characters -- who direct their excruciatingly banal observations straight to the camera -- talking about how difficult it is to connect, about how sex is easy but love is hard, about how tough it is to know who's right for you, and you think, isn't masturbation easier? And then you look at David McKenna's screenplay and Michael Cristofer's direction and you realize, yes! it is.

While McKenna's screenplay frets and pokes at the angst and ennui of the sex lives of his mid-20s ciphers, Cristofer and cinematographer Rodrigo Garcia (wouldn't those two names be perfect on the seat of a pair of designer jeans?) are turning "Body Shots" into a supposed reflection of the characters' shallow, glossy lifestyle.

It's something of a relief when the movie actually gets to a scene with two people talking where the camera is tilted at an odd angle or flashing lights aren't going off in the background. Cristofer and Garcia pile on blurred headlights, slow motion, flashbacks, jagged editing.

The entire movie appears to take place in bars and clubs you'd never actually want to go to. Ah, but this, you see, is the casual inferno our rootless young characters are meant to be slipping into -- the contemporary neon-limned graveyard of the soul. Which might be troubling if anyone here actually looked like they had a soul. Like the glitzy nightspots their characters hang in, the cast has been reduced to its accouterments -- teeth and breasts and oh-so-carefully tousled hair.

Next page | Enlisting Tara Reid in the service of tripe