Seven Pounds

Ludicrous.

There you have it, ladies and gentlemen, the one word review.  But I can’t let it go.  Nossir.  This is one of those movies that is so bad, it deserves to be talked about.  I implore you to see this movie; spend the money that you otherwise would’ve spent on illegal drugs or booze or hookers, throw that money away and laugh along with me.

I will now divulge anything and everything about this movie.  If you are one of those that don’t want to ruin the not-so surprise of this flick, don’t read on.   Seriously.  Major spoilers.  But, then again, how can you spoil crap?

Last time.  Don’t look if you plan on seeing this piece of shit.

Ok.  So Will Smith plays the Christ figure.  Rosario Dawson is Mary Magdalene and Barry Pepper is Judas, maybe (well, he can’t be Peter ’cause he doesn’t deny Chri-I mean, Will Smith, at the end).  Anyway, Smith plays a supposed IRS agent that makes house calls and trespasses on people’s property, assaults rich nursing home owners, harasses and insults blind people, and forces others to give baths to old ladies.  Oh, yeah, and he fixes decades-old printing presses in one night using nothing but three screwdrivers.  And maybe a hammer.

The non-linear narrative of the movie is that Smith harbors a secret (that’s guessed at in the first twenty minutes of the flick, if that) that makes him call 911 to report his own suicide within the first two minutes of the flick.  The rest of the movie tells us why Smith is going to commit suicide.  The problem is that it’s not really a mystery.  We figure out where this movie is going as soon as we meet Dawson, who just happens to be needing a brand new heart.  See where this is going?  Yeah, I did, too, but then I had to sit through another hour and a half for them to get there.

So Smith is using his own body as a donor–giving away parts of his body so others can live or lead happy lives or somesuch.  He also helps a battered lady by giving her and her two kids his house on the beach.  Nevermind that she has no job and she’s going to have to figure out some way to pay for the utilities and the taxes on that house.  Or what happens when she picks up the next boyfriend.  But at least he didn’t give her one of his hands or something.

It’s not a bad premise for a horror movie.  Except this is a romantic tragedy.  Well, the romance between Smith and Dawson, and the tragedy being this flick that they find themselves in.  Wouldn’t it have been better to have Smith and Dawson in love, her needing the heart, and Smith going out to kill someone to get that heart?  Oh, wait.  We can’t do that ’cause then Smith no longer becomes the Christ figure.  He’s just a murderer.

I blame the screenwriter, Grant Nieporte, for this piece of crap.  I blame him for the needless sentimentality.  For making Smith a nut; how else to explain someone doing this?  For putting a half-assed mystery that’s solved within the first act, and for taking a twisted idea and trying to make it romantic.  There is no fun in this movie, and it’s quite obvious that the Smith character needs help.

But that requires logic, of which this movie is in short supply.  Dawson ends up in ICU, and Smith is able to visit her, talk to her as Dawson takes off the oxygen line.  All the characters are idiots as they allow themselves to be talked to by Smith posing as an IRS agent without consulting a lawyer, or, when Smith pushes the nursing home administrator, without suing him and the government.  He’s an administrator.  First fucking thing he’s going to do is get his lawyer to sue Uncle Sam and Smith.

But that would mean the movie would have to be real.  Which it isn’t.

Smith somehow coerces his best friend, Barry Pepper, into helping him do this.  Barry needs help, too, incidentally.  I mean, I’ve heard of friendship, but this is ridiculous.

But the high point…the absolute peak of ridiculousness in this movie is the way Smith decides to commit suicide.

We’re shown a jellyfish, floating around in a tank, and Smith informs us that it’s a box jellyfish, “the most dangerous animal on the planet”.  Um, actually that would be man, but we’ll let that one go for the moment.  So we know the jellyfish is going to figure in the movie ’cause he brings it with him to the motel where he’s going to off himself.

Ok.  So we figure out that he’s going to use the jellyfish to kill himself.  Ridiculous, but, hey, it’s a fucking movie, right?

However…jellyfish live in warm waters, right?  So Smith calls 911 to report his suicide, gets in a tub of cold water filled with ice (better to preserve his heart, I’m guessing) and he dumps the jellyfish into the tub with him.  INTO A TUB FILLED WITH ICE COLD WATER!!

I’m thinking cutting the wrists probably would’ve worked better.  Probably less painful, if a jellyfish that size could’ve actually killed him.  But Smith is into pain.  We saw that as he altruistically gave his bone marrow to a little boy…without using an anesthetic.  I rolled my eyes so far into the back of my head during that scene that I could literally see behind me.

By the way, Dawson plays the heart failure character, and she’s got a month to live.  I was thinking she was all alone in the world, but come to find out she tells Smith that her sister and kids stopped by for a visit.  Now, I’m not exactly known for being generous or sympathetic, but if I found out my sibling only had about a month to live I’d probably be hanging out with her for more than a couple of days.  That’s just me, though.

Worst movie I’ve seen this year.

Tags: jellyfish, rosario dawson, seven pounds, will smith, worst movie