We gave it an F
In Whipped, Jonathan (Jonathan Abrahams), a compulsive masturbator, is nosing around his girlfriend’s medicine chest when he finds a gleaming silver vibrator. He starts to massage his body with it (to the tune of ”Karma Chameleon,” for reasons I’m still not clear about), at which point the buzzing sex toy flies out of his hand and nose-dives into an unflushed toilet. Ah, the joys and confusions of modern urban dating!
Whipped is a sex farce that’s out to shock you with its nasty misogyny. The writer-director, Peter M. Cohen, creates a plastic porno universe and passes it off as New York City. At a diner, he gathers his characters, a trio of single cruisers plus their miserable married friend, for weekly bragging rites in which they flaunt their bitch-slap hostility by saying things like ”That girl could suck a taxi driver through immigration!” Cohen may fancy himself a ribald verbal showman, but he’s more like Patrick Bateman pretending to be Kevin Smith.
This is the sort of movie that gets trashed by reviewers for rubbing our noses in noxious behavior. Let’s be clear, though: The trouble with Whipped isn’t that its characters are dirty-mouthed horndog jerks — it’s that they’re phony dirty-mouthed horndog jerks. The film features the most unlikely pickup scenes of the year, like the one in which Brad (Brian Van Holt), a high-fivin’ Wall Street dude, employs his foolproof method of winning a girl’s confidence by pretending to be the brother of ”Jen.” Every woman, you see, has at least one friend named Jen and will instantly melt at the connection. Brad and his pals may be hateful ciphers, but the film hands them their comeuppance when they fall hard for the enigmatically pliant Mia, who becomes their girlfriend in triplicate. Mia is played by Amanda Peet, who’s like Elisabeth Shue with smaller talent and bigger teeth, but who is perfectly cast as that ultimate loser fantasy: a human party doll. F