Miss March | Arts & Culture | Halifax, Nova Scotia | THE COAST

Miss March

Stuck in the 90s, this movie more grating than endearing.

An odd thing happens about 15 minutes into Miss March. The comedy, which until that point is desperate and met with uncomfortable audience silence, is suddenly funny. But it isn't meant to last.

Director/writer/star duo Zach Cregger and Trevor Moore (of MTV's The Whitest Kids U Know) hit when the comedy is physical. But they go too far trying to make their sex-driven characters Eugene (Cregger) and Tucker (Moore) endearing, and as a result they've made themselves grating. Moore seems like he's stuck in the late '90s doing his best Matthew Lillard (Scream, Dead Man's Curve) impression.

On a quest to reunite Eugene with the prom date to whom he was supposed to lose his virginity (a plot fumbled when he opened the wrong door, fell down a staircase and went into a coma for four years while she became a Playboy bunny), their road trip isn't a sharp cross-cultural odyssey like Harold and Kumar's first venture. The satire lacks focus: Tucker's sexual boasting represents his insecurity with women, but when Hugh Hefner delivers a speech on inner beauty, it doesn't gel with the degrading climactic shock gag.

Miss March has the worst lighting of any mainstream film in a long time, but is never anarchic enough in spirit to excuse that lack of polish. Occasional belly laughs slip through, but the movie doesn't have the attention to realize its own strengths.

Miss March is not showing in any theaters in the area.

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