A Fetid Pile of Dung

I don't write movie reviews and I'm not about to break that rule, but I must warn all of humanity to avoid the movie Couples Retreat like the fetid pile of dung that it is. Avoid it, run from it, and don't look back. It's the rare film with such great leads (Vince Vaughn, hilarious in Swingers; Jon Favreau, a gem in Elf; Jason Bateman, my hero in Arrested Development; and Faison Love, my chubby sweetie in Blue Crush - the last a guilty pleasure of a movie that proves I'm not a movie snob) that delivers no laughs. Not one. Maybe the essence of a hint of a light giggle once or twice, but nothing more, and I'm only saying that to be kind because of my deep and yearning attraction to Vince Vaughn. Kristin Davis from Sex and the City must have practiced her "excited at the thought of sex with a stranger" face in the mirror quite a bit in preparation for this, because it was all she was allowed to do, over and over and over again, in this disaster called Couples Retreat. Vaughn and Favreau, the writers, clearly phoned this one in as a reason to film in Bora Bora and while I can't say I would never do the same, I wouldn't be proud of it. They owe me five dollars.