How does that song go? Oh yeah...My Funny Valentine. Funny certainly defines this lame thriller from the internationally acclaimed director of that classic Urban Legend. So my buddy and I get to the theater, and we're the only ones there. We have the whole damn place to ourselves. We've already read that nearly every critic and movie fan in the free world hates this picture with a passion. I'm thinking to myself that at the very least, Valentine should be a pleasant throwback to those great slasher movies of the 80's. Friday the 13th, Prom Night, Terror Train etc. No such luck. As cheesy and ridiculous as those films are, they had a vibe that made them entertaining. Valentine is just plain crap.

Valentine opens with an all too familiar horror scenario in which a bunch of elementary school girls belittle the class nerd on Valentine's Day. You know the routine. They call him names, laugh at him, and beat him up. Thirteen years later (for no apparent reason), the now grown up girls begin to receive threatening Valentine's Day cards from a psycho they believe to be the same tortured boy. Before long, the girls are being picked off one by one by a killer that runs around in a stupid looking cupid mask--that bears a strong resemblance to Roger Ebert.

As this movie progressed, we just sat there in complete awe. This movie isn't scary! This movie isn't tense! This movie isn't anything! Hell, there isn't even any substantial nudity or gore. This movie isn't even routine enough to be considered a routine thriller.

Denise Richards is one of the worst actresses in recent memory. She seems to be more of a personality, exhibiting the same dimwitted, overacting style with each passing movie. This sort of nonsense worked in Starship Troopers, Wild Things, and Drop Dead Gorgeous, but it's become ridiculous. There isn't one inspired performance in this movie. The closest anyone gets to exuding the slightest amount of talent is David Boreanaz (TV's Angel) as a sympathetic alcoholic who may or may not have a hidden agenda.

The director of Valentine has found a new way to screw up what used to be such a fun genre. His name is Jamie Blanks. Blanks. That's fitting, because that's exactly what this guy is shooting. When he's not boring us, he's ripping off such classics as Halloween, Carrie and Poltergeist. Even the killings in this picture lack energy and innovation. The hot tub sequence looked to be a winner, but then the filmmakers turn it into a conventional power-tool kill. Hell, Blanks can't even get the whodunit aspect right. In fact, I challenge anyone who has already wasted money on this garbage to explain to me who the actual killer is. We get the explanation when the mask is peeled away, but then there is a nonsensical twist in the final frame of the picture. Were there two killers working together? Not that any of this matters. The movie sucks either way.

With Scream, Wes Craven and Kevin Williamson seemed to recreate and butcher the horror genre at the same time. That film's success has given the studios the impression that horror means gold at the box office. That's not the case in this Millennium. That means that My Bloody Valentine (a goofy little gore flick from the 80's) remains the definitive Valentine's Day slasher movie. If you can find a copy (I believe it's out of print), take it home and compare. As far as I'm concerned, it's no contest. One year some kids left a flaming candy box full of dog crap on my neighbors porch--this film is very much like that Valentine, minus the excitement.