I must be honest. There were times when I laughed. But the laughs in White Chicks are much unlike any other. They are not the reluctant laughs at Austin Powers, ashamed by the crudeness. They are not the reluctant laughs at the overt silliness of Dumb and Dumber, for its stupid humor is actually very clever. It’s not the reluctant laughs at the cornball, slapstick comedies in the variety of The Naked Gun and the Wayans’ Scary Movie series.

No, the laughs at White Chicks are the laughs at pure stupidity, laughs of amazement that such lines and jokes could possibly make it past a draft and onto the screen, laughs at a serious attempt at humor gone terribly wrong, laughs of sheer incredulity. One laughs at White Chicks the way one laughs at Guffman’s stage production in Waiting for Guffman. Only this really is for real. If I didn’t know better, I would believe the Wayans brothers were some guys off the street who stole a video camera, got some friends together, and decided to make a movie.

White Chicks is without question the worst film of the year.

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