User Reviews

Perhaps others will find depth in this pointless, depressing, pointlessly depressing odyssey into despair, but it'll probably involve a pack of bloodhounds and some industrial-strength flashlights. To recap, the "film" (and I use the term loosely) follows a lonely single man with a pet comb-over who brings home a blow-up sex doll, He has prolonged, squeaky sex with it, and returns it to the store. It's between steps two and three that we're apparently meant to be moved, but it only moved me toward the remote. The guy's emotions may be accurate, and certainly the special effects are top-notch (think "There's Something About Mary," "Happiness," or, if you're a man, your last lonely Saturday night), but the result is a big "so what?" The DirecTV synopsis for this film read "A man tries to return a blow-up doll to the store." I was expecting a wacky short film set in a sex shop, as some poor schlub tries to explain exactly why he's unhappy with his Hump Me Pump Me Susan. The "return" sequence takes up a good minute or so at the end, and is literally just a retail transaction: no acting, no intriguing dialogue, no humor, no drama. Just a man returning a blow-up doll the way one would Aunt Harriet's unwanted gift of a toaster oven to Wal-Mart. The high point is "Do you have a receipt?" I wish I had one for the time I'd wasted on this dreck.