R.S.V.P. (2002)
While I was watching the beginning
of "R.S.V.P." my eyes were wide, my mouth was salivating,
my fingers gripped the arm rest. No, it wasn't because
the film is good. Just the opposite. It was such an
unmitigated piece of shit that I just couldn't wait
to get home and sit down in front of my trusty word
processor and piss all over it from a great height.
This piece of dung doesn't waste
much time in telling us it's a modern reworking of
Alfred Hitchcock's classic "Rope." Well, that is,
it hopes and prays and tries desperately to be a modern
reworking of Alfred Hitchcock's classic "Rope." It
is instead, as I will repeat often in this review,
a piece of shit. The dialogue here between the principles
in the set-up talks about "Rope" and the case "Rope"
is based on, Leopold and Loeb. Lodger's Filmmaking
Rule #13: Just nodding your head to your inspiration
does not an homage make. This film is shit. "Rope"
is a classic. The guy who made this film isn't fit
to clean the mud off of Hitchcock's tombstone.
I hate fucking movies about serial
killers or thrill killers or whatever the fuck you
want to call them. They are generally insipid, pretentious
and puerile. These idiotic, sophomoric filmmakers
preoccupied with murder and mayhem who make such films
are the cinematic equivalent of little boys playing
with their pee-pees in front of the other kids on
the playground. The guys who make these movies are
usually squeamish little pussies who would never in
a million years have the bouncy, juice-filled balls
it takes to commit a murder so they instead make misanthropic,
misogynistic, pretentious, little, sophomoric films
about serial killers and thrill killers and murder
plots and kidnapping and torture and the like. It's
enough to make good clean folk puke from their eyes.
It's the true post-modern pornography in my book.
It's a shame too that someone has
the money to invest in these little playground pervert's
fantasies. It's money wasted. Oh sure, there's nice
cinematography in this film. It looks great. And there's
some really big-name secondary actors in the film
like Jason Mewes, Grace Zabriske and that guy from
"Roseanne" who played Becky's husband Mark. But even
Mewes, who does nothing here but his "Jay" schtick
from the Kevin Smith films, cannot save this stinking
pus bag of a film. I mean, I love Mewes, love him!
He's hot as fuck and funny as hell. He does nothing
but his usual stuff here but the film is such a stinking
pile of shit that even this does not make it worth
viewing. I hope Mewes got a HUGE paycheck for doing
this film. It sadly does nothing to prove how talented
and deserving of more film work he is.
The little pud-pulling exhibitionist
responsible for this crap is named Mark Anthony Galluzzo.
He should be arrested for indecent exposure. He is
such a whiny and stupid fuck that he actually thinks
his film is cool and, worse yet, clever. His rambling
soliloquy at the films (anti)climax is as insipid
and imbecilic as they come. It is actually possible
to imagine that he was possessed by the spirit of
Ed Wood when he wrote it once you see the scene. It
makes the final soliloquy in "Plan 9" seem like Shakespeare.
Ah... But, sadly, little pornographer/masturbator
Galluzzo is a premature ejaculator. He doesn't no
how to hold off from spilling his seed. He isn't interested
in writing a good script or making something new and
unique here. Like the dumbest of serial killers, he
is a braggart and a wimp. He has to tell us almost
immediately who the killer is and why he is killing
here. He can't sustain the mystery. And once he lets
us (the audience, his voyeurs, those whom he is hoping
will be interested in seeing him jerk-off cinematically)
in on who the murderer is, any interest the film might
have gained is made sterile, any momentum it might
have attained is deflated. Galluzzo spills his seed
and expects us to applaud him for it and delight in
it as he swishes it around in his belly button.
This is sophomoric, contemptible,
sick crap. Galluzzo thinks he is oh-so cool and hip
and clever. What a dumbass. God help you if you get
tricked somehow into watching this defecation on celluloid.
Note:
Also with Majandra Delfino of TV's
"Roswell."
Seemingly filmed in Vegas.
The pop songs in the film include
"One Step Beyond" by Madness and "Mommy's Little Monster"
by Social Distortion.
