From Justin to Kelly

reviewed by Dave

…to the bargain bin at Walmart. Few movies have so quickly landed in the $5.50 dvd pile. At that price, Jaime decided to drop president so we could the magic, the cinematic pageantry, that is From Justin to Kelly (FJ2K).

Sure, it would have been two dollars cheaper to rent it at Blockbuster, but then I’d never be able to set foot in Blockbuster ever again. If you must rent, consider also renting something racy like that Elizabeth Berkely stripper movie from a few years ago. Hopefully, the clerk will be too busy thinking you’re a pervert to notice that you’re checking out From Justin to Kelly.

It’s difficult to pick one single thing wrong with From Justin to Kelly, but here are two obvious choices: Justin Guarini and Kelly Clarkson. It’s hard enough to swallow Sideshow Bob as the male lead, but the biggest problem is, unfortunately, Clarkson. The girl can sing. The girl cannot act.

But that’s not where the problems end. Much of the film is set to music, some of which is passable pop, some of which is pretty crappy. These songs inevitably turn into really, really boring music videos. Here’s a five minute song with just two people riding in a boat during sunset. Really, that’s it. The few songs that do have more elaborate settings (read: lots of people dancing) are sloppy. FJ2K was shot in just 6 weeks, and you can tell that not everyone was able to learn the dance steps that quickly.

The worst part of FJ2K, though, comes from the almost-G-rated plot. When a guy that has a crush on Kelly show’s up, he and Justin decide to duke it out for Kelly’s affection. How? With hovercrafts. But they’re not racing. They’re not playing chicken. They’re, get this, trying to be the first one to throw three nerf balls into a basket in the other guy’s hovercraft. What will be the next event in the girly-man Olympics? Speed cross-stitching?

If you’re 14-years-old and/or a big fan of the show, you’re curiosity may be enough motivation for you to sit through From Justin to Kelly. If that doesn’t describe you, don’t bother with this half-baked Beach Blanket Bingo wannabe.