Main cast: Andie MacDowell (Kate), Imelda Staunton (Janine), Anna Chancellor (Molly), Kenny Doughty (Jed), and Bill Paterson (Rev Gerald Marsden)
Director: John McKay

Crush is a really fake, insulting movie that embodies every reason why poor “chick flicks” are mocked by too many people. Were I was a teenager aspiring to be an author like all of my classmates, I would write pretentious “artistic” stories where true happiness must be followed by death (preferably traffic accident or the all-time fave, cancer). It’s nice to see that John McKay can get financing for this movie, which bears an uncanny resemblance to a piece I wrote when I was 14. Anyone wants to read my story and make a movie out of it?

Three women, all encompassing the stereotypes one could get from all those women’s fashion magazines (that must be where director and writer John McKay gets his inspirations… while he’s getting his nails done, perhaps): the frigid spinster, the slut, and the bored wife. Not one of them is remotely likeable, and all are so cruel and nasty that asking me to sympathize with their stereotypical woes is like asking me to weep for Bill Gates’s losing his wallet. When the frigid one embarks on an affair with a much younger man (Kenny Doughty, unfortunate name aside, is very hot and easy on the eyes, I must say), the other two jealous bitches scheme and plot. The result? Stud dies in an accident after a period of bliss.

My story is still available for movie options. Harvey Weinstein, you reading this? Call me and we’ll deal.

The only way this movie could redeem itself is if that frigid Kate loses it, buys a torpedo, and blasts her two so-called friends straight to hell while doing a Samuel “Who’s the motherfucking bitch now, bitch?” L Jackson impersonation at full volume. But no. Crush pushes forth hugs and forced reconciliations instead: so what if your friends stab you in the back in ways you cannot even describe? You’re over 40, desperate, clingy, and pathetic, so you’ll forgive everything as long as they all love you!

Hear that? That’s me, Crushing this piece of crap to bits. The only way this hot luscious babe can be placated after viewing this piece of drivel is when Kenny Doughty comes over and gives me some, uh, private music lessons.