 Cherish (2002) Cherish is similarly fecal. There's nothing original or interesting about it; the soundtrack is maddeningly obvious and on-the-nose; the performances are shite; the direction is amateurish at best; the script seems first-draft. Robin Tunney plays a woman who finds herself under house arrest after running over a cop while being carjacked, and there she befriends a gay midget in a wheelchair, the nerdy deputy assigned to monitor her ankle bracelet, and the neighborhood teens who stop stabbing each other long enough to help her out for no apparent reason. Meanwhile, she's being stalked by a pop-song-quoting man whose identity is kept carefully secret until the end of the film, and when he is finally revealed, he's not a character you've seen before. He's the d.j. who Tunney's character listens to regularly. It's absurd, low-rent, barely hanging together at all. But surprisingly not infuriating. Liz Phair (?) begins and hopefully ends her attempt at a film career with a cardboard performance; Jason Priestley donates five minutes of screen time, probably to fulfill some kind of court requirement. And yet, I can't help but give props to the filmmakers. They made a movie. Sure, it's a terrible movie, but it's a movie nonetheless. And you can tell they thought they were on to something, which counts to some degree. Their enthusiasm is apparent—too bad any semblance of talent or enjoyability isn't.
Review by La Fée |