Opens Fri Sept 7
There are two types of people in this world: those who think Mark Wahlberg is hot, and those who don't.
I'm of the latter persuasion. I think he's freakish. He has a baby face, and yet looks prematurely old at the same time. His skin is greyish and greasy looking, and his pupils are perpetually dilated so that they seem thick and lifeless. He also has a very small head, and his emotional range never gets more complex than a mild state of confusion. I was surprised they cast him as the human in Planet of the Apes. He would have made a much better primate.
For those reasons, I really had no reason to see Rock Star, in which Wahlberg appears in every scene and wears really tight leather pants without any underwear.
I certainly didn't need to see it for its ridiculous plot about a leader of a butt-rock tribute band that ends up--through a series of poorly explained and unbelievable lucky coincidences--actually singing for the band his tribute band once tributed. He rises to fame, realizes it's not what it's cracked up to be, loses everything he truly loves, blah blah. It's a two-hour Behind the Music, except not nearly as interesting because no one cares about the fate of a made-up metal band when real metal bands like Megadeth are falling back to earth every day.
I also didn't need to see this flick for its awful soundtrack that fluctuated instantaneously between too-loud classic rock and too-loud sappy violin music, and I definitely didn't need to see it for its degrading female portrayals (only the Jennifer Aniston character isn't a sex-starved groupie, and even her identity is restricted to nothing more than a Wahlberg appendage), though I did appreciate the copious amounts of pointless boob shots.
If there had been more boob shots and less Mark Wahlberg, I might have liked it better. But then again I don't think he's hot.