Boys and Girls

Once you’ve been lobotomized by Cats and Dogs, the remnants of your frontal lobe are ready to be carpet bombed by Boys and Girls.

Boys and GirlsAnd indeed there is a nice symmetry to the way both of these films employ four of the most common nouns in the English language separated by its most common conjunction.

But where Cats &Dogs is merely passively empty, Boys and Girls is actively annoying to the point of driving the sober viewer to bloody self-flagellation.

Essentially Andrew Lowery and Andrew Miller (the writers) took the plot of When Harry Met Sally, but dumbed down the script (way down) and avoided really engaging head-on the rich thematic soil that is sex/friendship/love.

The film gives us a predictably unbelievable picture of Berkeley and its college environs, using 90210-esque overaged actors (Freddie Prinze and Claire Forlani) that create about as many sparks onscreen as a waterlogged diaper rubbed against a copy of The Prague Tribune.

The characters are stupid and self-satisfied, making the question of their happiness one that is very difficult to care about. After twenty minutes into this tunnel of boredom you don’t want them to fall in love so much as you want them thrown off the Golden Gate Bridge wearing nothing but their Berkeley t-shirts and a pair of cement Filas.

Thinky says: Recommended for masochists, fifteen year-olds on their first date, and idiot savants who require adult supervision at the bowling alley.