But fornication and impurity of any kind, or
greed, must not even be mentioned among
you, as is proper among saints. Entirely out
of place is obscene, silly, and vulgar talk; but
instead, let there be thanksgiving. Be sure of
this, that no fornicator or impure person, or
one who is greedy (that is, an idolater), has
any inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and
Five minutes into this film the characters had used the “F-word” so many times that two young women seated next to me at the advance screening got up and walked out. This is the only film in years in which I came close to doing the same, but then I’m a “cockeyed optimist” who always thinks that a film might bet better. How wrong can one be!
The story is about a chunky flunky (Jonah Hill) from a record company sent to London to make sure that a drug-addled rock star (Russell Brand) shows up for his concert at Hollywood’s Greek Theater. The singer’s career has crashed after his exploitive album shot in Africa was lambasted as the worst rock album ever, and the guy’s wife has left him. (The sequence of the terrible song is very funny.) He of course, gets our hero into all kinds of trouble, during stopovers in Manhattan, and Las Vegas—and, also of course, they bond along the way and singer confesses—well never mind.
The filmmakers want to have it both ways, reveling in the foul language, drugs and promiscuous sex (there’s even a sexual tryst involving the two of them and the flunky’s girlfriend), and then pretend that this is a tale of redemption. There are too many other films worth seeing to spend your money on this one. This makes Sex in the City 2 seem like an art film. No, it makes the latter seem like Citizen Kane—but without “Rosebud.”