by anti-folk hero
Let’s see, where can I begin to start talking about this horrible turd fest of a movie? Samuel L. Jackson plays a po’ boy farmer who is also a god-quoting blues revivalist. Christina Ricci is a complete nympho who gets heroin-withdrawal cravings for cock. She gets beat up and left by the side of the road, Samuel L. (or Laz, as he is called) finds her, puts her on the couch, goes into town, magically cures her cough, learns she’s a slut and then chains her to the radiator to “cure her” of her cock cravings. Sounds like it might be interesting, right?
Wrong. There are big patches of nothing, disconnected characters, and a whole mess of scenes that could easily be cut out (which would make this sucker run a bit more smoothly). Samuel L. can’t play the modest farmer for long, often displaying his machismo first by breaking a bottle on a pool table next to his brother’s head and then singing a blues song where he keeps saying “motherfucker” and talking about shooting somebody in the chest with a 44 (what original fare!). Add to this a whole slew of unnecessary characters, including: Ricci’s insane mother (who is unforgiving when confronted about letting her old boyfriends rape the young Ricci), Laz’s church-going-pharmacist-love-interest, a preacher, a bartender, a young boy, Ricci’s boyfriend (played by pretty boy Justin Timberlake, who spends most of his time on screen yelling, starting fights and generally trying to prove to the world that he isn’t a total pussy, when in fact he is exactly that, a pussy), a 300 pound black crack dealer and many more. The plot is non-existent, which leaves the movie as a poor attempt to reconcile a man who lost his wife, a woman who lost her ability to fuck everything that moves, and a poor attempt to revive the blues, and you have black snake moan.
The product placement was especially egregious. Gibson obviously paid someone on set to use only Gibson guitars for Samuel L. Jackson’s artificially applauded performances (where after each 30 second song, the entire house went completely bananas). His acoustic guitar was some brand new, clean, ridiculously expensive guitar, which was especially poorly placed as Laz was poor and had to sell vegetables off of the back of his truck. His electric was a disgusting magenta colored Gibson ES-335 with decals spelling out “L-A-Z” on the side of it. You know, to add authenticity. Yeah, like this podunk pea farmer would have a five thousand dollar custom shop magenta Gibson ES-335 sitting under his bed and be selling vegetables. Why don’t you just replace his tractor with an Escalade? The effect is the same.
All in all, this is a terrible movie with a sub par but completely expected performance from Samuel L (say “what” again) Jackson while Ricci’s part was hot and sexy but ultimately not interesting. I place the blame on the writer and director, however, who obviously couldn’t edit this diarrhea milkshake into something watchable.