Film review: Spread

Published on Sunday 27 December 2009 13:41

SPREAD (18)

Director: David Mackenzie

Running time: 97 minutes

IF MADONNA was allowed to rewrite Alfie, you'd probably end up with something as sexy, empty, and pretentious as Spread, in which Ashton Kutcher stars as Nikki, a hustler and ladies' man who would probably get even more action if he didn't spell his name like a 14 year old girl.

Directed by David Mackenzie as if it was a condition for early parole, the film's first problem is why we should care what happens to Nikki, who is a smug narcissist content to coast on his looks by swanning around Los Angeles picking up women with the devastating line "what's your name?" Once captivated, wealthy, powerful, fabulous-looking foxes like Anne Heche open their wallets, their homes, and themselves up in exchange for Nikki's bump and grind services.

Along the way, Ickki Nikki shares with us the secrets of his successful leeching; don't make the first night's sex too good or you will create an impossible standard for yourself, have an adorably cack-handed dinner waiting for her when she gets home, and keep those flowers coming (on her credit card).

Some of us might think it's unlikely that women prepared to take on Nikki would be so uniformly well-heeled or well-preserved but then Spread makes Deuce Bigalow, Male Gigolo look like something by Ken Loach. From Pretty Woman to The Girlfriend Experience, we've walked millions of imaginary miles in working women's shoes, but straight male hustlers are still relatively enigmatic. Spread won't give you any more clues; decapitated from reality, it alleges to traffic in real-world experiences such as loneliness, lust and cynicism but treats them as though they were ingredients for a martini.

Maybe the shallow styling is a point in its favour, because as it is, when faced with a plot that's as dumb as a log and appears simply to be marking time before reaching a fingerwagging conclusion, I had plenty of time to notice David Mackenzie's potential as a photographer of beautiful homes, and acknowledge Spread's indie soundtrack, which is far more quirky, unexpected and intriguing than the script or Kutcher's boutique collection of facial expressions.

The rest of Spread is as fatuous as its "six inches and a pretty face" hero, and the gears shift only slightly when he takes an interest in Heather (Margarita Levieva), a waitress who is almost as broke as he is but is supposed to be a far more astute collector of sugar daddies. Is it a meeting of minds or a merging of business plans? If she's so streetwise, why is she attracted to Nikki, who is starting to remind me of Pepe Le Pew, the languorous, amorous cartoon skunk. And if she is such an accomplished schmoozer, why is she a waitress?

David Mackenzie has always seemed intrigued by off-kilter relationships and rococo sexual encounters. In Hallam Foe, Jamie Bell stalks Sophia Myles because she reminds him of his dead mum. In Asylum, Natasha Richardson is in thrall to a hunky mental patient who butchered his wife. In the coitus-freighted Young Adam, the sex becomes literally messy when Ewan McGregor empties food over Emily Mortimer. But Spread is just a series of randy random encounters where aerobicised women bounce on Mr Kutcher's lap while he adopts the sort of frowning concentration that recalls Joey from Friends doing a complicated long division sum in his head. Spread is not funny, profound, erotic, or original. In fact the only thought I had, as I tipped up my cinema seat, was how much I preferred Alfie.

General release from Friday

A version of this article first appeared in Scotland on Sunday on December 27