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Seriously.
It's a hodgepodge of stories focusing on the two leads as they deal with a slapdash romance: namely he's easygoing, but she's extremely PC, full of herself, and argumentative to an extreme. Presumably we are supposed to think they are both a little kooky, but Tatum is so straightforward and Tatum is so insane you can't help but wish for them to split up.
Eventually they do, and along the way we're introduced to a crazy movie director (Kelsey Grammer), who has commissioned the aforementioned rubber vagina (milked for every ounce of humor you can fathom), Tatum's crazy assistant (an oversexed and emotionally resigned Jason Priestley, a highlight of the film), a crazy tenant for Tatum (Lauren Fox), and various other random characters who flit in and out of the picture.
None of this manages to hide that Standing on Fishes is a movie about nothing -- and with a meaningless title. It has a number of charming vignettes -- and even I have to admit that crazy vagina is good for a few laughs -- but the abrasive Scott Lynn frequently makes you long for a merciful end to the picture.
