All guts, no heart. The opening gag — a former gymnast desperately masturbating to video of her own medal-winning heroics years earlier — has the virtue of a kind of double honesty. First, it’s an accurate indicator of the film’s tone and content: a steady drumming of deadpan, joyless vulgarity (much of it delivered verbally by star and co-writer Melissa Rauch), climaxing in an acrobatic, quasi-explicit bout of gymnastic coupling that’s clearly intended to make onlookers gawk in naughty-minded amazement. Second, it illustrates the creators’ fundamental attitude toward filmmaking: as a tool for self-pleasure. Throughout, you can sense their satisfaction in serving up a thoroughly repugnant heroine and setting her grudgingly on the road to repentance (if not quite basic human decency). But sensing it is not at all the same as sharing in it. After a while, you may even start to feel that what director Bryan Buckley & Co. really value is whatever squirming discomfort they can wring from an audience that fancies itself sophisticated enough to enjoy the naturally unpleasant. (2016) — Matthew Lickona
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