Hollywood's latest Nicholas Sparks adaptation, The Lucky One, is out today. It is not a good movie. The flashes of weirdness—like the protagonist walking from Colorado to Louisiana and stopping in every town along the way to ask people if they know the person in a picture found during a raid in Afghanistan—are all undermined by the film's insistence of reiterating each plot point at least five times (it takes place at a kennel, so you'll quickly get bored of dog play).

What is notable about it is how spectacularly awful Zac Efron is in his first humping role. Yes, the dude can thrust seductively in a PG-13-friendly way, but what he cannot do is act. In the interest of not giving Scott Hicks' film any more time that it deserves, here are all the things I wrote in my notes about Efron's on-screen presence:

  • His eyebrows are so spiritual.
  • His line readings are as stiff as his spine.
  • He looks vaguely pained.
  • He looks vaguely menacing.
  • His character's last name [Thibault] is pronounced like "Tebow." How convenient.
  • He's rarely made to say more than two sentences at a time ("I like philosophy." "I like to read." "I walked...I like to walk." "I'm glad I was." "Do what she says. Let go of her arm." "I just want to make sure you're OK." "I won't forget." "You should be kissed everyday, every hour, every minute.").
  • He looks like he's carved out of polyurethane – sex-doll perfection.
  • He has the far-off look of someone who can't read being confronted by cue cards.
  • Half-lidded dreamboat eyes gazing at a light bulb.
  • He looks like he wants to marry/fuck/kill simultaneously.
  • Finally shirtless.
  • Only when he's dancing does he seem to feel free.
  • Gorgeous eyelashes.

Avert your eyes if you're afraid of spoilers:

The Lucky One does contain one bit of pay-off that's both Wizard of Oz-esque and like nothing I've ever seen: death by treehouse. For that, maybe it's worth it.