F

Just terrible. Good comedies of frustration can be made about the horrors of travel–John Hughes, for instance, had winners in both the original “National Lampoon’s Vacation” (1983) and “Planes, Trains and Automobiles” (1987)–but this farce about apparently mismatched newlyweds who break up while cavorting around Europe is a witless, moronic bore. At one point the couple’s escapades are referred to as “the honeymoon from hell.” The movie apparently originated in the same place.

The lovebirds in question are Tom Leezak (Ashton Kutcher), a lowbrow radio DJ, and Sarah McNerney (Brittany Murphy), the blonde daughter of a wealthy businessman. After an extra-cute meeting on the beach, they have a whirlwind courtship and get engaged despite her family’s misgivings. Before long they’re hitched and off on their dream trip to France and Italy, but disaster follows disaster. Most are Tom’s fault: he’s a total ignoramus, the very image of the ugly American abroad, and his chauvinistic imbecility blows up buildings and crashes cars. But matters are worsened by the arrival of Peter Prentiss (Christian Kane), a smarmy old boyfriend who’s out to steal Sarah away. The upshot of it all is that by the time Tom and Sarah make their way back to California, they’ve decided their marriage is over even before it’s begun. But of course, they’ll have second thoughts and a happy ending is assured–for them, if not the audience.

It’s difficult to overstate the wretchedness of “Just Married.” (You can get an idea if you remember that its producer previously served in the same capacity on “Screwed,” “Little Nicky,” “See Spot Run,” “Corky Romano” and “Joe Dirt”–all of roughly similar quality.) Sam Harper’s script is a ramshackle mess, filled with lame gags and thoroughly unpleasant characters–more people get their noses bloodied in the course of it than over the course of any Jerry Bruckheimer smash-a-thon, with ever-diminishing comedic returns, and one of the big laughs involves a dog’s death. And while Kutchner and Murphy can’t be blamed for the material, they certainly don’t help matters with their whiny, frazzled performances. Neither exhibits the most infinitesimal particle of charm, and spending ninety minutes with them becomes sheer torture–unless you have a burning desire to watch Kutcher saunter around in boxer shorts, as he does through roughly a third of the movie, or to see Murphy do an incessant perky routine. Kane is appropriately hissable, but one feels terribly sorry for David Rasche and Veronica Cartwright, stuck in the embarrassing roles of Sarah’s parents. (The big joke about Cartwright’s character is that her nickname is “Pussy,” which you can imagine is endlessly repeated.) It is morbidly interesting, though, to see how badly David Moscow, playing Tom’s best buddy Kyle, has aged; he was a likable tyke in “Big,” but now he’s surprisingly unattractive. As for Raymond J. Barry, so memorable in the recent “Interview with the Assassin,” he wisely underplays so awesomely as Tom’s father that he’s barely noticeable–a distinct plus in this case. Shawn Levy is listed as having directed the picture, but given the chaotic, sloppy staging (the frequent slapstick episodes are astonishingly messy), it’s difficult to believe such a person actually exists. (He does, though–having made the far superior “Big Fat Liar.” If he keeps up like this, however, his nickname is sure to become “One-Take.”) The picture looks awful, too–ragged and badly-lit, with interiors that are supposed to be elegant but instead have a flea-market ambience and cinematography that makes even Venice look garish. To complete the catalogue of misery, Christophe Beck’s music is one more piece of evidence that the xylophone should be permanently banished from film scores.

The year has just begun, but with “Just Married,” one slot on the “worst of 2003” list is already spoken for.