Yesterday evening my parents brought home '17 Again', one of the films that numbered amongst those that I would never ever have considered watching unless home alone for a long period of time, with a severe case of PMS and psycopathic neurosis, which, incidentally, go hand in hand.
Well. I only watched half of it because I came to a point It was one of the squickiest films I have ever seen: not just because of the plot (divorcee-to-be gets his adolescent body back, consequently becoming his son's mentor, his daughter's crush *ick, ick* and the object of a weird Oedipal thing with his wife) but because of Zac Efron's FACE. Man, I can't look at it for too long without writhing uncomfortably in my seat. So I didn't.
But, meanwhile, only taking quick and measured glances at his FACE, I discovered a few things:
A) he is actually not that bad an actor. (Can't believe I'm saying this! Oh, the shame...) Of course, he's no Johnny Depp, but you can see that all those expensive drama lessons paid off a bit in the end.
B) and I am very ashamed to note this, but it cannot be denied: he has a rather hot bod. There, now I've got that off my conscience. But I will continue to declare that he is unworthy of pinup status, purely and simply because of his FACE (and patently self-obsessed facial expression). Ugh. And now I just feel mean and horrid for going on so about something a boy cannot fix or change (unless that boy is Michael Jackson - but let us not even go there. Just because a person is dead does not mean that he was a nice, sweet or even slightly well adjusted man, people!) but I think that one person who suffers stomach convulsions at the sight of a popular celebrity's visage is not going to even slightly act as a fly in the ointment. So I don't feel so very bad.
C) and although I would totally totally love to deny it right down to the ground (anybody - any sane, mature person in full possession of their faculties who has endured even half of that desecration of the the beautiful art of musical theatre, HSM, would be completely prepared to denounce the so-called talents of any of its main perpetrators as non-existent), Mr Efron can dance. Even though he nearly had me eating my own liver in hopes of of vitamin A poisoning and merciful death when I watched 'Hairspray' *shudder* and I was literally hitting myself in the face when he 'dance bombed' the cheerleaders' routine in the first few minutes of '17 Again'... the boy can dance. Even if he uses his power for evil and not good.
The movie itself was unbearably painful. It managed to be more awkward than 'Mrs Doubtfire' but not as awkward as 'Tootsie'. A few bits of it were good - a gung-ho pro-abstinence lassie like myself couldn't help but appreciate the 'sex talk' scene :-P But seriously, taken as a whole, the film was a dismal cringe-fest. Don't see it. I only stayed for half...
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