Okay I made the last one up. But otherwise, IT’S THE SAME FREAKIN’ SHOW!

Even if this garbage was called “The Jerry Springer Movie” it would have still been one of the crummiest films in recent memory. There’s only one writer, but there are sixteen producers. Sixteen! Two co-producers, a line producer, eight executive producers, and five plain old producers (including Springer himself) are listed in the film’s credits. What the hell did they all do? And why did they all keep their names attached to this debacle?

Though Springer himself has top billing, the main characters are a foursome of white trash: mother Connie (Molly Hagan) and her daughter Angel (Jaime Pressly), who is sleeping with her mom’s husband (William McNamara) and ignoring her fiance (John Capodice). Needing a low-priced alternative to therapy, they head to Spri--er, I mean “Jerry,” where they can settle their differences. Meanwhile, an unfaithful man, played by Michael Jai White, struggles with his multi-faceted lovelife, and also makes that most ignominious journey to “Jerry.”

Meanwhile, in Los Angeles, Jerry is dressing in satin cowboy outfits and singing in country western bars. And, true to his low-brow audience, his thin voice and lame rhymes goes over like gangbusters! Springer, who looks like a guest-star in his own movie, tends to pass through scenes that are already in motion, dispensing some pleasantries, shaking his head and muttering in exasperated disgust. Do you think Springer even read the script before signing his contract?

I suppose the producers, all forty-three of them, realized that Jerry’s audience wasn’t tuning in for the artful discussions of the human condition, and thus peppered the movie with lots of flashes of nudity and sleazy softcore sex. Even this doesn’t speed along the tedious preceedings. I did find that yelling “Jerry! Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!” at the screen during the most atrocious moments calmed my rage to the point that I could unclench my fists.