Mirax

Remember MTV's "Undressed" -- that nightly, shameless bite of over-earnest sexual situation comedy? Everyone was just slightly insecure and prime-time-friendly kinked, and sexual preference made everyone awkward until exactly what they wanted fell into their laps at the end of the episode? Yeah. This is "Undressed, The Movie." The production values are low (in fact, it looks like it was filmed on the same minimalist sets as the show) and there are no points for art, aside from the uncomfortable but amusing first scene, which mimics classic repairman porn that suddenly goes bad, then funny. The actors are each given one adjective (uncomfortable; hot; gay; sexual) and they run with them like an improv comedy troupe without an audience to play off of. The writing leaves them without an ounce of subtlety or realism, but that's okay. The point of the film is not to create truly great characters, aside from oversexed loudmouth Gwen, whose squeak of a voice makes her foul language and unabashed proclivities almost endearing. The point is to create fun new sexual situations, then pretend that sex and love correspond.

I'll admit it: it's utterly embarrassing to watch this movie with another human being. I was embarrassed when I laughed uncontrollably at things numerous reviews had told me were idiotic humor. Well, this movie is idiotic. It's also adorable romantic comedy, with a funny and somewhat original premise . . . at least, it's cobbled together from original premises, like the "Rear Window" setup where Amanda thinks she witnesses her obsession across the street, Jim, murdering someone. Freddie Prinze Jr is completely irresistible, and Monica Potter's somewhat one-note nice-girl cuteness is made palatable by the insanity of her four supermodel roommates and her practical lesbian friend. Watch this, laugh hard and don't be embarrassed, because this movie, even at its most poorly scripted moments, is earnestly trying to make you laugh, unlike most of today's prefab romantic comedies, whose earnestness is sheer manipulation. Plus, only a small percentage of those have Freddie in them.

I will be short and sweet on this one (ha, you wish): this movie is very funny, sugary sweet without being cloying, and visually uncomplicated and satisfying. I really enjoyed it. Never far away from the material which first brought us the shallow, yet deeply involved in her shallowness, Beverley Girl ("Clueless"), "Legally Blonde" (awful title, boys) plunks this new Cher, named Elle, into the alien world of Harvard (obviously, except for the first arresting aerial shots of the vaunted institution, filmed in Los Angeles or thereabouts) and follows her through preppie parties and intimidating classes, accompanied by a band of clownish, broadly drawn, and entertaining supporting characters and temporary villains.

A note on acting: Selma Blair is funny without being annoying, a new move in her career which I applaud her for, as Vivian Kensington, legacy bitch of Harvard Law and Elle's competition for the shriveled heart of her former boy toy; Luke Wilson, as well, has managed to not only not annoy me, but has made me fall in love with him as a softhearted associate at the law firm where Elle gets an internship. In many movies (Home Fries, to take a memorable example), Wilson's dimwittedness made you want to slap him. Ironically, here, where he is playing an intelligent lawyer, the doofy act is endearing and not annoying ("Did you just call me a butthead? It's just that I don't think anyone's called me that since, like, 9th grade."). Reese Witherspoon is sweet and that look of sudden enlightenment, which she can maintain throughout a conversation, is priceless. Holland Taylor is underused but perfect, and all the males not branded doofy, and thus acceptable, are perfectly and convincingly slime-coated.

Don't think too hard -- that's what killed this movie for my sister, a bona-fide Harvard student. Just keep remembering Clueless:

Cher: That's Ren and Stimpy! They are way existential.

Josh: Do you have any idea what you're talking about?

Cher: No . . . Why, do I sound like I do?