A modern-day updating of the Dracula legend that finds Steven, a good-looking American hero devastated by the death of his girlfriend, wandering through Europe and looking for happiness. A ... See full summary »
A naturally talented basketball player, Noah Cruise is determined to become a doctor using his basketball scholarship to UCLA pre-med, rather than succumb to the lure of former sports agent... See full summary »
Preston A. Whitmore II
When a rap mogul from Atlanta tries to join a conservative country club in the Carolinas he runs into fierce opposition from the board President- but it's nothing that he and his entourage can't handle.
Spring break in Miami is the scene. It's where surf-drenched guys cruise girls in bikinis and raucous parties rule day and night. It's the perfect time and place for three young women from Texas and a trio of college guys from Pennsylvania to find adventure and maybe even fall in love. In a Texas dive bar, Kelly is singing her heart out to a few local yokels when her best friends Kaya and Alexa try and tempt her away for some fun in the Florida sun. It's an easy sell--even for the cautious Kelly - and the three head for Miami. Making their way to the same destination is the "Pennsylvania Posse": college students Justin, Brandon, and Eddie. Justin and Brandon are smooth-talking party promoters, while Eddie's primed to meet Lizzie, the cyber dream girl he's been e-mailing for months. Miami Beach, beating with a rhythm all its own, is teeming with beautiful people. Kelly's friends are drawn into the beachside fun, while Kelly tentatively navigates a sea of strangers. When her eyes meet ... Written by
Sujit R. Varma
And I only watched the first 25 minutes. It is inconcievable to me that anyone could make a film this hopelessly, endlessly, mind-meltingly bad. This is not a bad movie - it's a war crime. Somehow the producers actually managed to cast supporting players bad enough to make Kelly Clarkson and even the talent free Justin Guarini seem good by comparsion.
The alleged "choreography" ammounts to nothing more than frantic flailing of limbs. Accents come and go with wild abandon. The songs are, to put it charitably, forgettable. I'm surprised "American Idol" judge Randy Jackson isn't credited as a writer, because the dialouge is that witless and badly phrased.
This is the worst thing humanity has ever done.
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