Credentials: 8%, Certified Rotten (Rottentomatoes.com) / 1.7
out of 10, #16 on the Bottom 100 List (Imdb.com) / 14 out of 100
(Metacritic.com) / Nominated for 9 Razzies at the 2004 Golden Raspberry Awards,
won Governor’s Award for Distinguished Under-achievement in Choreography /
Named Worst Musical of Our First 25 Years by The Golden Raspberry Foundation
Plot: Deep in the heart of Texas, a gal named Kelly (Kelly
Clarkson) and her two clearly stereotyped best friends (an evil blonde and a
token black girl) decide to head to Miami for a little Spring Break action.
Meanwhile, deep in the heart of Pennsylvania a shaggy-headed muppet creature
named Justin (Justin Guarini) and his two badly stereotyped friends (a
muscle-bound playa’ and an inexplicably dorky third wheel) decide to do the
same. Naturally, these two demographic-seeking missiles (read: groups of “friends”)
meet on the Miami beaches and erupt in a fiery explosion of ungodly dance and
song the likes of which has never been seen before.
Why it stinks: “From Justin to Kelly” is a vastly important
patch in the giant, moth-eaten, gamey-looking quilt of American pop culture.
For one thing, it’s the high water mark of Justin Guarini’s short-lived career.
It’s also the unquestioned rock bottom
of Kelly Clarkson’s. The movie was also “American Idol’s” XFL--- the moment
where it realized its power was indeed finite.
History
lesson aside, “From Justin to Kelly” really is just a putrid, vile nightmare of
a movie. Even with THE one and only American Idol, my lady, Kelly Clarkson in
it, there is STILL no reason--- short of medical experimentation or endurance
testing--- for a human being to ever subject themselves to the horror show that
is this movie.
Now
look, when it comes to the magical world of dance, I’m no George Balanchine or Paul
Taylor. Hell, I’m not even a J-Lo, but I
know bad, limp, lifeless dancing when I see it and boy do I see it here.
The dance numbers in “From Justin
to Kelly” are so poorly choreographed, that they actually occasionally cover up
how poorly written all of the songs are. You’re almost too busy gasping at the
stilted, spastic movements to notice the clunky, trying-desperately-hard-to-be-hip
lyrics. I said almost. Some lyrics, well, there’s just no helping.
For example, here’s a bit of poetry
from the tune “The Luv (The Bounce).” Hit it: “All the girls can be shakin' in
the bounce tonight, gonna do it like we do when the bounce is right …” What the
hell does that mean!??! Those lines couldn’t be more poseur-rific or nonsensical
if Carson Daly had typed them with his feet.
The musical numbers may be train wrecks set to
dumb pop songs, but the acting is almost as bad.
There is not a single, breathing
actor anywhere to be found in this movie. Love her as I do, Kelly Clarkson is
NOT an actress. Somehow, someway Clarkson is NOT able to pull off playing an
aspiring singer from Texas named Kelly. She’s essentially playing herself and I
still don’t believe a word of it.
Same goes for Guarini, who’s a
goofy-looking guy from Pennsylvania in both reality and in the movie.
As I already mentioned, the friends
are all horrible clichés and stereotypes. “From Justin to Kelly” is one of
those movies that takes people from radically different social circles who
would never give each other the time of day in real life and makes them friends
for some reason. Why the hell is the dork hanging with the muscle-bound playa’?
The flimsy bit of screenwriting
that links the musical numbers is rife with plot holes and inconsistencies.
Essentially, it’s just: kids go somewhere to have fun, music starts, or sometimes
it goes: random misunderstanding followed by music.
There’s no logic in anything that
happens. The whole plot is basically just a poorly executed stall-tactic before
we get to a somewhat predictable finale. The only part that wasn’t predictable?
A certain viciously evil character (OK, it’s the blonde) is completely forgiven
for acting like an absolute ass hat for the duration of the movie. No one holds
it against her.
Worst of the worst
You could take any one of the musical
performances, but I’m going to go with the blonde’s big number. It’s really a
mess of hyper-sexualized malarkey.
So there you have it, “From Justin
to Kelly.” Bumblebee tuna.