Lord. BritBrit dances. Sticks her tongue out. More shots. BritBrit's new song "Chaotic" plays. Graphic tells us that the cinematography is by BritBrit and K-Fed. Great -- grab the Dramamine. More footage. Produced by them. Okay, we get it. You're triple threats. You're Kings of all Media. Got it. More shots. Picking flowers. Britney slides on a table. Kissing. Grossness. BritBrit's Pro-Tooled-into-a-digital-soup-as-usual voice sings, "Do you like the way I rock it? Boy, it's cha-o-tic." That rhyme isn't awkward at all.
Commercials. Wait, so how exactly is The Honeymooners movie anything like The Honeymooners, the show? Title and character names only? Okay, just checking.
So we open on footage from the just plain weird Onyx Hotel tour. It's disappointing because I thought I was going to see those scary bald guys do "Slam," but it's a different Onyx, I guess. The Cirque Du No-Lay continues as BritBrit comes out to "sing" "Toxic." BritBrit in night vision says, "My face looks weird." Yes, it does. You can blame your mom and her fondness for shouting, "Just one more martooni for the road, barkeep! I think I just felt a kick, y'all." More "Toxic." More night vision. BritBrit gives herself a pig nose and then laughs that she's scaring herself. *SIGH* They cut back and forth between the performing and BritBrit discovering the art of staring into a videocamera monitor like a mentally handicapped three-year-old. Or a kitten in a mirror.
London. Rain. The footage is gloriously not from BritBrit's camera, which, sadly, most of this show is going to be. Yeah: BritBrit's camera. A shot of BritBrit's knees. "They look like boobs," she says. "But they're not." Fuck off, are you kidding me? I totally thought those were boobs! Then she swivels the camera to her face and laughs, "They're my knees!" And then she giggles and her sycophants in the room who are paid to find her hi-larious laugh along. BritBrit's in her hotel room and she shows us her dining room and then her kitchen. She cackles and shows her view and bedroom and flowers. Then a grand piano, which I'm sure she's really great at playing and could totally bust out some Chopin etudes if she wanted to, but she just doesn't feel like it right now. She tells us that she's spoiled and that this is too much for one little ol' person. BritBrit spoiled? Naw. U.S. currency just feels better than toilet paper on your ass when you use it to wipe, y'all.