As a Fellow Theatergoer Was Overheard to Observe, I Can Attest to the Following: Obsessed is Definitely NOT Whack
April 28, 2009

If anything, Obsessed is something of a small miracle.  Hollywood seems to love producing mirthless crap on a daily basis, so much so to the point where you point where one might think that Hollywood’s only business is producing joyless cinematic equivalents to pond scum.  But such is most certainly not the case with Obsessed.  Is it bad?  No doubt.  Terrible?  Quite possibly.  But I liked it, nay, loved it:

obsessed-ring-on-it

Obsessed is, to be certain, a terrible movie.  The acting is at very best vampy sexpot camp (Ali Larter) and the inimitable brand of steely faced, bitch-please crazy that Beyonce has elevated to a minor art, yet it’s in other places rather tepid (Idris Elba’s performance seems rather befuddled, almost as though he hired by simply wandering onto the set) or head-scratchingly absurd (Jerry O’Connell’s horndog schtick seems to have been beamed in from another planet).  

The screenplay is an impressive black hole for logic and character motivation.  Beyonce’s the dream wife because the movie says so.  Ali Larter gets obsessed because the movie says so.  The cop doesn’t believe that Ali Larter’s wearing the least seductive pair of business casual crazy pants because the movie says so.  Showgirls infamously asked that you leave your inhibitions at the door.  Obsessed demands you to do the same with you deductive reasoning skills.

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