November

November            GRADE: F

Courtney Cox plays a woman who teaches college photography (this is not a truncated description, this is the depth of her character).  While stopping at a convenience store one night, her boyfriend is executed by a thief.  Cox’s mind fragments and she spends the rest of the film lamely trying to ascertain what truly happened on the fated evening.

Unfortunately, I’m unable to give November a grade lower than “F.”  November achieves distinguished ignominy in ranking highly among the worst films I’ve ever seen.  Clocking in at about 75 minutes doesn’t make it any easier to sit through.  Is November a narrative or an experimental film?  As a narrative it is incomplete; even as a short story this would’ve dragged.  As an experimental it isn’t shot or cut together well enough to provoke anything interesting.

Director Greg Harrison (Groove) gives half an effort in creating a lugubrious digital smear; adding insult to injury, this seemed to be his intention.  Characters are lifeless lumps of flesh that transparently stepped onto the set and were filmed one minute later.  The film contains a great many close-ups, which would be fine if Cox didn’t display the same uncertain, bored, emotionless expression time after time.  November is an idea without a story, a world without life, a film without meaning: to quote the film, “an underachiever’s haircut.”