This is the John Millea (Dirctor) how-to guide of making something that really, really stinks. I can't imagine that anyone read this script because it is just too bad to even be believed. The scheme that C. ("Don't See") Thomas Howell has to come up with in this convoluted, poorly acted, poorly directed, and poorly shot piece of celluloid disease (see, I used the title of my summary in the review) is so unbelievably stupid that I'm thinking that development execs must now be patrolling head-trauma units to find new material. They can't even get some decent looking chicks to show us some gratuitous sex in this. Did all the gyms in California shut down for some time? I thought people in California worked out. The dialogue is something you just can't even comprehend, it's so bad. Whoever the director was, please someone call John Millea and find out if he's on suicide watch, 'cause if I had made this, I'd be out on a ledge about now. What a horrible, horrible, pieced together piece of junk! John, next time you want to make something good, from a script that's won awards...call me. Oh, but you'll have to interview for the job...I mean...come on.
