Catwoman

Oh, I knew it was going to get here eventually. So, this evening, I pulled it out of the little red Netflix envelope and sat down to watch it. Tonight’s movie is the winner of four Razzies, Catwoman. Halle Berry accepted her “Worst Actress” Razzie in person, thanking the studio for putting her in such a terrible movie.

Yes, it was bad. It was ridiculously bad. The story comes from the comic heroin/villain in DC Comics, adapted in a staggeringly incompetent screenplay. Halle Berry plays a painfully shy, mousy, somewhat bohemian, bungling ad agency graphic designer, despite being the most beautiful woman ever, whose life is a mess and coworkers are an offensive gaggle of gossips and queens in an office decorated like a Nazi propaganda poster. Our girl discovers a plot by the cosmetics company she works at to ship a dangerously addictive skin creme that turns women’s skin into burnt papyrus. She finds out, she gets killed, and a computer-generated cat brings her back to life by breathing into her lifeless mouth (No, they apparently couldn’t get any of the 87 cats they trained to be in the movie to breathe in Ms. Berry’s mouth), giving her extra special powers and skills which she just can’t seem to not use.

She falls for a cop, turns into a heroine of nebulous morals, and leaves handwriting samples all over the place. There’s even a police lab with a handwriting analyst, who, because whoever wrote this script was shriekingly retarded, predicts her personality traits between two samples using graphology. Halle unleashes some of the most groaningly predictable one-liners of all time and, somehow, her pathetic rotund friend ends up with a doctor at least an exponent out of her league.

The special effects in no way fooled a single member of the audience into believing their authenticity. The cheeseball performances of an all-star cast were the result of an absolutely idiotic script and forehead-slapping direction. The only redeeming quality, and by redeeming I mean watchable for a few seconds, of this movie was Halle Berry herself, dressed up in her lip-biting Catwoman costume with the naughty little leather whip. She knew that was the selling point of the movie and strutted her stuff beyond the breaking point. Her pseudo-feline strut-walk thing seemed mechanical and hokey.

They spent EIGHTY MILLION DOLLARS on this? We could have had six or eight more seasons of my favorite show for that.

My grade: F.

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