All right let’s talk seriously for a moment here. Last night, while knuckle-deep in a box of Cheez-Its watching Resident Evil 3, I came face to face with the inevitable: I am a huge fan of Ali Larter. My devotion does not stem from the fact that she is a doe-eyed leggy blonde (my girlfriend’s theory) but rather because:
1) She’s a bad actress. I mean very very bad. She’s so bad that she crosses the line from poor acting to instant camp. Her presence can transform any movie from a low-budget thriller into a farcical tragedy.
2) She works more than any bad actress in Hollywood today, and her fame is a complete fabrication. She is a living representation of the entertainment industry’s embracement of hype and name recognition above any other quality.
Therefore Miss Ali Larter singlehandedly embodies two of my most guilty fascinations: laughably poor performances and a film industry that runs not on plot, dialogue or even physical appearence, but exclusively on fame. She’s like a living car crash…horrible to behold and yet I cannot turn away.
Lemme back up. You see Ali Larter is a fake actress. But don’t take my word for it, check out this explanation from the ever-reliable Wikipedia:
In November 1996, Larter portrayed the hoax model Allegra Coleman in Esquire magazine. The article published in the magazine told of the fictional model’s relationship with David Schwimmer, how Quentin Tarantino broke up with Mira Sorvino to date her, and Woody Allen’s overhaul of a film to have her star. Even after the hoax had been revealed, its effects lingered, and various talent agencies sought to represent the non-existent Coleman.
By providing the visual for a bizarre mid-nineties magazine stunt, Larter was ushered into the B-list without even the dubious credits of heiress porn stars like Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian. But I would argue that Larter is their predecessor in the realm of being well-known for no reason, paving the way for the self-feeding fame that fuels so many careers these days. She’s like Rosa Parks of the celebutant set.
I’m not technically old enough to be this jaded, but I feel that there must have been a time when you had to be good at something in order to get paid for it. In a world where Joe the Plumber gets an album deal, any talent on Larter’s part might have gotten in her way. To this day she remains the girl from that magazine cover, the stock photo placed under the heading “Actress,” redefining what acting can be for the benefit of those of us who foolishly dropped hundreds of thousands of dollars to study it at a university.
And what a bold new world it is. In Final Destination it seems as if she genuinely doesn’t know what she’s saying. And I don’t mean just that she doesn’t connect with her dialogue, I mean that she actually doesn’t recognize the words coming out of her mouth, as if she’s never spoken English before and is reading it phonetically off a cue card. Usually a movie must age at least 20 years before it becomes campy enough to provide this level of entertainment. On Heroes, Larter creates a new cult classic every Monday in Prime Time.
On a related note, last night I followed up Resident Evil: 3 with Species: 2 staring Michael Madsen who is FUCKING PHENOMENAL. Now even Quentin Tarantino, arguably Madsen’s biggest fan, couldn’t honestly say that he’s much more than a weathered B-movie actor. However the difference between him and Larter is like night and day. Madsen swaggers and squints like he knows what a piece of crap he’s in, and willingly plays his ridiculous part in it. Larter pushes her way through every scene like it was her once-in-a-lifetime shot at stardom, each word dripping with the forced sincerity of an impostor, and therefore perhaps exhibiting a little self-awareness after all.
