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Kutcher plays Nikki, a crafty lothario who 'knows all the rules.' Every two minutes, our droll hero speaks to us in a smooth voice-over about the ins and outs of shameless chauvinism while we watch countless air-headed bimbos take his 'genius' bait and give him everything he wants. It would be easy to think all he wants is sex, but in truth, he is really chasing after money. See, Nikki is a homeless, jobless drifter whose only livelihood is gained by bilking rich socialites of their ample funds by maintaining lusty affairs of varying lengths and ambiguous significance. Maybe it's the film's idea of a joke to have women lining up to roll around with a lanky, empty-headed tool who wears cuffed jeans, a studded belt, skinny suspenders, and a neck scarf. For me, I'm not sure which was more offensive -- Nikki's behavior or his wardrobe.
As the film begins, Nikki sets his sights on Samantha (Anne Heche), a 40-ish lawyer who is at first wary of the slick dude's advances, but who quickly gives in because, well, the movie only has about 90 minutes to play with. After a couple peppy montages of back-breaking (and reality-breaking) sexual exploits, Nikki assumes the role of Samantha's boy-toy, swimming in her pool and using her credit cards while she goes off on business trips. She even returns home to find a nameless female head bobbing up and down in Nikki's lap, but after lashing out in anger, she quickly disrobes for another go 'round with her trophy stud.
All films require a suspension of disbelief, but to accept what plays on the screen during Spread would necessitate a suspension of human decency. In no world can the events of this film take place except in the misogynistic minds of its makers. Are there scheming lotharios lurking in the shadows of Los Angeles clubs? Sure, but they don't just bounce around like rejects from the American Pie franchise. Do single, lonely career women sometimes allow themselves to be treated badly by jerky boyfriends? Absolutely, but it would be nice to probe into why such gender wars take place. It is not the scenario that presents the problem in Spread, but the shallow recklessness with which that scenario progresses. An honest film that exposes the harsh reality of doomed surface-level relationships would be fabulous, but this movie's emotional complexity only probes about six inches deep.
Of course, the movie wants to pretend that there is some grand catharsis that Nikki must go through, including falling for a woman who treats him like he treats most women and discovering how his former conquests truly feel about him. Unfortunately, Spread is so lacking in basic human understanding that it treats painful truths as punch lines. The only element it appears to take seriously is Nikki's own downward spiral, but even that unfolds with such a lack of conviction that it barely registers as an emotional shift. For all its lofty ideas and smug narration, Spread is really just a film about a worthless bum who should burn in hell. And no, they don't serve beer there.
