Twisted

Remember when Ashley Judd was considered an actress of promise and budding talent? Here’s further proof that such a notion was hysterical. Judd plays a newly appointed homicide detective with a penchant for kinky sex with strangers (echoes of Clint Eastwood’s Tightrope). When all of her former sex pals start showing up dead, she becomes the prime suspect in their murders. This is a gimmicky, poorly acted, exploitive excuse for a film, with the likes of Andy Garcia and Samuel L. Jackson hurting their careers. The mystery of the killer is laughable. The killer is easily identified, and the killer’s actions in the film’s finale are amongst the dumbest for screen criminals in recent years. Judd wouldn’t know a good script if it walked up to her, shook her furiously, and screamed "Hey! I’m a good script! Do you hear me? I’m a good script! Embrace and ingest me, make me your own, and throw away that one called Twisted! It sucks!"