Instead of seeing this, try bathing in vomit.

Rating: 1/10 (5 January 2005)

A ridiculously vulgar, painfully explicit piece of pretentious crap that attempts to pass off extreme profanity as some sort of artistic realism. It stars four assholes who treat each other like blow up dolls and then can't understand why they feel so darn bad all the time. At one point, the pervert dermatologist character woos the Julie Roberts-as-budding-photographer character through a mix up in an online sex chat, which we are expected to read for about ten minutes. Later, Dermie Man tries to have a talk with Natalie Portman the erstwhile stripper while also asking to see her crotch. Everyone knows that everyone is cheating on everyone, and at the end, we have one still erstwhile stripper, one still entirely unlikable obituary writer, one regretful photographer, and one increasingly greasy dermatologist. The big surprise twist is that the erstwhile stripper has been lying about her name the whole time, for no apparent reason. She's really Jane Jones, just your typical anonymous weepy erstwhile stripper from the good IL' U.S. of A., who, in her last scene, causes men to literally turn around and stop walking just to look at her, comically salivating and pumping their fists all the while. Instead of seeing this, try bathing in vomit. It's guaranteed to be more enjoyable, and you'll feel cleaner in the end.