Trust (2010)

Directed by David Schwimmer
Written by David Schwimmer, Andy Bellin, Robert Festinger
Produced by David Schwimmer, Tom Hodges, Dana Golomb, Ed Cathell III, Robert Greenhut, Heidi Jo Markel, Avi Lerner, Boaz Davidson, Danny Dimbort, Trevor Short, John Thompson, Will French, Stephen Roberts
Starring Liana Liberato, Clive Owen, Catherine Keener, Chris Henry Coffey, Viola Davis, Jason Clarke, Spencer Curnutt, Aislinn DeButch, Noah Emmerich, Olivia Wickline, Zoe Levin, Zanny Laird, Yolanda Mendoza, Shenell Randall, Tristan Peach, Ruth Crawford, Marty Bufalini, Inga R. Wilson, Jennifer Kincer, Milica Govich, Joseph Sikora, Julia Glander, Lauren Hirte, Cassaundra Fitch, Laura Niemi, Miles Robinson, Garrett Ryan, Noah Crawford

Most civilized people would agree that adult men oughtn’t debauch teenage girls for cheap, lewd, transitory gratification, and if sincere denunciation of such transgressions was the intention of Schwimmer and his co-producing tribesmen Lerner and Davidson (who hail from our world’s most murderous, parasitic, triumphalist, genocidal, rightly detested, second-world apartheid state) when distributing the former Friend‘s Lifetime movie theatrically, it might not have flopped spectacularly to their loss of $4M. In accordance with the North American mass media complex’s fixation on illicit relations between adults and adolescents, this was purposed less to profit than to advertise Apple’s flimsy, overpriced electronics, heroize grossly corrupt federal law enforcement agencies, malign straight (esp. white) men, further ambiguate the concept of sexual consent, and conflate ephebophilia with pedophilia, so to divert the masses from flagrant, unpunished, pedophilic crimes rampant among the entire repugnant, largely kosher ruling class, and especially its entertainment industry. Ergo, Schwimmer’s story of a pretty, guileless, unsupervised girl (Liberato) of fourteen who’s seduced online, then deflowered by a pudgy pedagogue and family man (Coffey) for whom she expresses overt revulsion upon their first meeting, may be taken with a metric ton of salt. Suburban teenage girls who are unreceptive to the advances of older men are among the most sensibly guarded and ruthlessly discriminating, so this almost singly delicate demoiselle’s submission to, then deluded defense of an unattractive and blandishing pervert skirts logic and probability to implant more neurotic trepidation of a usually innocuous demographic, and broaden impressions of actionable rape, permission, and even volition itself in the minds of gullible proles, just as legal inhibitions of her irate father (Owen) imposed by friendly representatives of the FBI (Clarke, Robinson) reminds parents everywhere that justice is the exclusive domain of our unregenerate justice system and federal agencies. Seven years of development during which Schwimmer’s story was the subject of fifty drafts(!) created a slapdash screenplay of a grade that hacks inditing telecast productions routinely churn out in a fortnight, complete with their hilariously distinctive, technologically and psychologically errorful clichés:

  • While gifting his daughter a laptop in 2010, dad mentions the 4GB of its hard drive’s capacity, not RAM.
  • Because he uses burner phones and proxies, a serial predator who grooms his targets exclusively online for months is all but untraceable, and laboriously hunted by the FBI as though he’s an international master spy.
  • Prepossessed by his daughter’s rape, Owen’s previously inattentive father (essentially a vehicle for Schwimmer’s impotent, cultivated indignation and chimerae) loses his mind and repeatedly makes a swollen ass of himself:
    • Pappy’s daydreams of the crime include hysterical close-ups of a ribbed dildo and expressed lubricant.
    • In another reverie, he breaks into the home of a greasy sex offender in his neighborhood, who he’s surveilled in his unexplained spare time, to viciously attack and murder him.
    • Daddy-o is an executive of a PR firm representing a fictionalized brand based on American Apparel (and therefore an unconscious proponent of statutory rape, you see); at one of his client’s parties, he hoarily hallucinates that his daughter’s among their scantily clad models.
    • In the fever pitch of his lunacy, pops steals inexplicably printed and bound transcripts of his offspring’s hot and horny texts that are even more inexplicably carried among the paperwork of Clarke’s unbrushed special agent, so to present them to his wife at a house on the market that she’s about to show, and obsess over his little girl’s raunchy rhetoric; according to Schwimmer, Bellin, and Festinger, federal personnel just tote evidential printouts around with them for no comprehensible reason, which they leave publicly unsecured whilst relieving themselves.
    • Almost as absurdly, father poses as an oversexed preteen in a chat room to blindly entrap potential predators.
    • At a retailer of a type indeterminate for Schwimmer’s calculatedly cramped shots, daddy contemplates purchasing a firearm from a preposterously overstocked and unlocked array — so to remind all the good goys progressives that guns are inherently bad, and only mean men privately own and use them.
    • After all this frankly unhinged and obsessive misbehavior, dad actually purchases another cell phone for his daughter — who was successfully baited for rape online — after neither he nor the FBI confiscated the one that was involved in an interstate felony.
    • More inconclusive sensationalism is effected when he interrupts his recovering daughter’s volleyball game by pommeling another player’s father, who he may have mistaken for the aforementioned sex offender, and who instantly, emphatically, suspiciously pardons this assault.
  • At a familial Halloween party, idiotic Grampa (Bufalini) deprecates Barack Obama as a “socialist” — a typical Republican’t’s misapprehension of every American baizuo’s favorite whoreson and political puppet, in one of the few ironically believable moments of the entire movie.
  • Oddly, nobody’s concordant on whether the ravishment in question occurred in a hotel or motel because neither Schwimmer nor his screenwriters can check simple, salient details for consistency.
  • One Lifetime-grade commonplace is recycled when Liberato’s phiz is photoshopped into pornographic photos that are posted online….
  • ….as is another when she undertakes a suicide while snapping a selfie to maximize her attention in her household’s bathtub.

Mauger the pathological rarity of her character, Liberato’s much-lauded portrayal justifies its hype by credibly registering her abused sylph’s credulity, vulnerability, and trauma, but her, Owen’s, and Keener’s histrionical verve is misspent on not a lie but a dramatization of infinitesimally infrequent incidents meditated to further erode interpersonal, intraracial, and societal fraternity, and to distract gentiles from far worse and common dangers promoted and perpetuated en masse by kinsfolk of this propaganda’s moneyed producers and apish director, who monomaniacally espouses a ludicrously vicenarian age of consent nationwide without a word for so many actual children regularly raped by those in circles from whom he’s not four degrees removed. Only his exhortation for parents to monitor and counsel their online children is valid, as the hackneyed theriac with which his poison goes down smoothly.

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