The Casserole Club
Ask yourself a question. And answer it truthfully. Are you really excited about the idea of Fifty Shades of Grey becoming a movie? If your answer is yes then firstly, you probably need to get out more (and go see Magic Mike) and secondly you should probably try to get your hands on a copy of The Casserole Club. This film is hailed as (by the production company who made it) the “masterpiece” of director Steve Balderson -“the best kept secret in Hollywood”. Best kept secret = nice way of saying no one has ever seen anything he has ever made. Ever. I have seen his secret and trust me, it needs to be kept. And never, ever mentioned.
So this is where the paragraph about the plot should go. As I did not see anything resembling a plot I shall instead tell you what I saw: tits, sex, more tits, spit roasting, lesbian sex, gay sex, and a bit of guilty Catholic suicide. Maybe that is a little harsh, but sixty minutes into the film that was pretty much all there was. Set in the 1960s in Palm Springs, The Casserole Club is about a very overly friendly (wink wink nudge nudge) group of female friends who decide that in order to spice up their weekly casserole clubs, where they each try each other’s dish, they will get their husbands to judge it instead. So far, so misogynistic. At the inaugural casserole club night they all eat, drink and get very, very merry and soon the main dish on the menu is group sex and every second of each hour is sexy time. Sex. (Just wanted to make sure you were paying attention.) The next day, everyone feels very bad for sleeping with each other’s spouses (bad neighbours, you wouldn’t get that happening on Ramsey Street) and they all shuffle off home to their normal lives. Except that later THAT VERY SAME NIGHT we get the joy of watching it all happen again. This time everyone is even more guilty and eventually someone tops himself. Boo hoo.
Except that it is a boo hoo. The idea behind the film is actually interesting and the film makes attempts at showing snippets from historical events to frame the film and show us what being a woman was like in a stifling society which was on the verge of revolution. THEY JUST DO IT REALLY BADLY!! It is like the director couldn’t make up his mind if he wanted to shoot a porno or a tart with a heart story and ended up going for both. What we are left with is a film so boring it is like spending an evening trapped in a dinner party with a bunch of accountants and a porno so lame even your grandmother wouldn’t be turned on.
This brings me onto the part of the review which should talk about characters and dialogue. It is hard for any words to be taken seriously over all of the ‘bom chicka wah wah’ music in the background of The Casserole Club, especially when the lines are as follows:
“My wife’s vagina looks like a parenthesis with an afro”.
“This salmon tastes like a spoonful of cunt”.
“Your mouth is like a cave. I want to spelunk in your mouth”.
“(Licking large chocolate bar). Mmmmm…creamy”. (Wow. Just..wow).
Perhaps the biggest insult of all is that the casseroles in this film look vile! Ladies, a little less Mills and Boon and a little more Delia Smith would have been better. The film does try to make amends towards the end and decides that maybe a plot might be quite nice after all, but by that point it is all far too late.
I will never be able to look at bananas, jelly or shepherd’s pie ever again. Avoid this film like it’s chlamydia.