text: I saw this regurgitated pile of vignettes tonight at a preview screening and I was straight up blown away by how bad it was. <br /><br />First off, the film practically flaunted its gaping blind spots. There are no black or gay New Yorkers in love? Or who, say, know the self-involved white people in love? I know it's not the love Crash of anvil-tastic inclusiveness but you can't pretend to have a cinematic New York with out these fairly prevalent members of society. Plus, you know the people who produced this ish thought Crash deserved that ham-handed Oscar, so where is everyone? <br /><br />Possibly worse than the bizarre and willful socioeconomic ignorance were the down right offensive chapters (remember when you were in high school and people were openly disgusted with pretty young women in wheelchairs? Me either). This movie ran the gamut of ways to be the worst. Bad acting, bad writing, bad directing -- all spanning every possible genre ever to concern wealthy white people who smoke cigarettes outside fancy restaurants. <br /><br />But thank god they finally got powerhouses Hayden Christensen and Rachel Bilson back together for that Jumper reunion. And, side note, Uma dodged a bullet; Ethan Hawke looks ravaged. This, of course, is one thing in terms of his looks, but added an incredibly creepy extra vibe of horribleness to his terrifyingly scripted scene opposite poor, lovely Maggie Q.<br /><br />I had a terrible time choosing my least favorite scene for the end of film questionnaire, but it has to be the Anton Yelchin/ Olivia Thirlby bit for the sheer lack of taste, which saddens me because I really like those two actors. I don't consider myself easily offended, but all I could do was scoff and look around with disgust like someone's 50 year old aunt. <br /><br />A close second place in this incredibly tight contest of terrible things is Shia LaBeouf's tone deaf portrayal of what it means for a former Disney Channel star to act against Julie Christie. I don't mean opposite, I mean against. Against is the only explanation. I realize now that the early sequence with Orlando Bloom is a relative highlight. HIGHLIGHT. Please keep that in mind when your brain begins to leak out your ear soon after the opening credits, which seem to be a nod to the first New York Real World. This film is embarrassing, strangely dated, inarticulate, ineffective, pretentious and, in the end, completely divorced from any real idea of New York at all. <br /><br />(The extra star is for the Cloris Leachman/ Eli Wallach sequence, as it is actually quite sweet, but it is only one bright spot in what feels like hours of pointless, masturbatory torment.)