Cast: Ashton Kutcher, Tara Reid, Andy Richter, Michael Madsen, Terence Stamp, Molly Shannon, Carmen Electra
Director: David Zucker
Producers: John L. Jacobs, Gil Netter
Screenplay: David Dorfman
Cinematography: Martin McGrath
U.S. Distributor: Dimension Films
It doesn't take much critical savvy to understand why Dimension Films is sneaking this movie into theaters with little advertising and less fanfare. Sitting through My Boss' Daughter is the enactment of a critic's worst nightmare. Carmen Electra in a wet tee-shirt saves about five seconds of this movie. The rest of the 85 minutes is unredeemable.
Message to those who thought Gigli was the worst movie of 2003: check this one out. You'll change your mind damn fast.
Another curious thought: there must be something about really awful movies that encourages notable actors to bare their buttocks. Rip Torn did it in Freddy Got Fingered. (Since that's the modern touchstone of unwatchability, it's bound to come up in any review of cinematic sludge.) Now Terence Stamp has done it in My Boss' Daughter. Surely someone must have had in their possession some sleaze about him to force his participation. I hope he got the negatives and every copy of the prints.
The story centers around Tom Stansfield (Ashton Kutcher), a Nice Guy Who Finishes Last. He has the hots for his boss's daughter, Lisa (Tara Reid), and will do anything to spend a few moments with her, including house-sitting her dad's home. The problem is that Dad (Stamp) is a very unpleasant man who demands perfect cleanliness and order, so, when Murphy's Law intervenes, Tom finds himself in a very bad situation. Outside of Martin Scorsese's After Hours, a more disastrous night for the main character is not to be found. But, whereas After Hours is weirdly compelling, My Boss' Daughter is torturous. It's hard to figure out who's having the worse time: Tom or those stuck in the audience.
The best fringe benefits go to Ashton Kutcher, who made this film pre-Demi Moore. This is probably his worst film to date, but, considering his other cinematic ventures (including the immortal Dude, Where's My Car?), it's not much of a drop-off. But Kutcher is given the opportunity to feel up Carmen Electra, and, if multiple takes were required for that scene, that could mean a lot of groping. (He also got to squeeze Molly Shannon's breasts, but, from a boast-worthy point-of-view, it's not in the same league.) Andy Richter is surprisingly low-key, but his underplaying is more than made up for by Shannon, who is over-the-top and harpy-like from start to finish. Michael Madsen mugs it up in a riff on Mr. Blonde, and does a halfway-decent job until we get to the golden shower. Carmen Electra is on hand to provide eye candy. I think she may have had three lines of dialogue (at most). To be frank, that's what Tara Reid should have been limited to. As appealing as she has been in past movies, she's flat-out awful here.
The director, I must report with great distress, is none other than David Zucker. Yes, that David Zucker. The ex-ZAZ man who was one of the creative forces behind such classics as Airplane! and The Naked Gun. Oh, how the mighty have fallen! My Boss' Daughter is structured as a comedy, but someone forgot to remind the filmmakers to include the jokes. The screenplay comes across as a series of cobbled-together sketches that are, by turns, annoying, embarrassing, and irritating, but never funny. Viewers around me groaned more often than they chuckled, which is never a good sign for this kind of film.
Sitting next to me was the proverbial Guy Who Likes Everything. When the cataclysm had abated, he proudly proclaimed that My Boss' Daughter is worth only one star (out of five). So don't just take my word for it. In fact, I can't even recommend this movie for late-night cable TV watching for those who have lost the remote control. Everything offered here, including Carmen Electra's breasts, can be found to better effect elsewhere.
© 2003 James Berardinelli