And onto… “Black Snake Moan (2007)”. Well well well. Christina Ricci is an actress possessing a dark vibrancy, always hypnotically expressive and mesmerizing, in the best possible way. Here she exhibits once again her uncanny ability to transform herself physically to adapt to the role at hand, as she did in "Monster" with the equally adaptable Charlize Theron. Her chameleon attempts pay off in spades (no slur intended, for those of you who swerved down that mental offramp) as she tightened up her hot little bod and grew her bangs out to portray the quintessential queen of white trash in Craig Brewer's latest film "Black Snake Moan".

Sure, the film isn't perfect. Continuity errors abound, usually seen with sudden changes in beverage volumes and cigarette lengths, but in this case they mostly appear in the varying heights of her gray half-top as it falls from her bare shoulder to barely rest above her pert breasts. Let's get to the point - wardrobe deserves an Oscar for their tremendous efforts in this film. Not for keeping Ricci's clothing on, but for first designing the scant clothing, and then for ensuring that the script ignored for the longest possible time, and then even longer, any and all logical points at which she could've and should've covered up. Or at least changed outfits. Brewer even states in the additional commentary that there was an attempt to keep her half naked for as long as possible. Mission accomplished.

The film has an interesting score. I have loved the Blues since hearing Hendrix's "Blues" a few decades back. This movie tries to focus on that element of the South, but it's really hard to focus on much of anything other than the swell of the bottom of Christina's breasts peeking from the underside of her half-top. Still, Jackson does an admirable job playing the guitar himself in all his scenes.

Chains chains chains. Well, there, I said it. I imagine some women, or any gender Feminazi, are arming themselves with pitchforks to skewer Brewer and Ricci for setting the Feminist movement back 30 years, but maybe you shouldn't get all bent out of shape about an exposé of two co-dependent people. Maybe you should just feel sorry for them. Or, as I did, look on in awe.

In summary, go for the wardrobe, stay for the movie. I'm not saying it's a great movie, but it's amazing to watch Ricci in what I consider her most beautiful role - a half beaten to death skanky white-trash nymphomaniac chained to some black dude's kitchenette. How's that for finding the deeper meaning? Sometimes it's great to be pretentiously superficial.

Here are some visual exhibits to back up my premise:

Bad Man's Rating: 7 out of 10

(only due to Christina and her wardrobe, I must admit. Otherwise it'd get a 2)

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