Described by Mike as "Coyote Ugly with corsets", is it any wonder the guest list to the London premiere comprised of largely useless sorts?
For every pair of boobs that once graced reality TV (Big Brother A and B, Celebrity Love Island A and B, The Only Way is Essex, I'm a Celebrity... Get Me Out of Here[AKA 'the beak from the bush']), there were pasquinades (it's a real word) to burlesque. Cher came as Florence Welch in approximately 40 years time, but with added plastic surgery. Paloma, who I've slightly thawed to since her latest stint on Never Mind the Buzzcocks, brought along the male version of Jordan (who would've definitely been there had she not been making her quarterly jaunt to LA to get her mop done). Cam Gigandet arrived as a Chomp (part chocolate, but mostly toffee), Kristen Bell as an overloading fembot (it's all in the eyes), but Christina totally let the side down by wheeling out the usual old side street shtick. Lord, I can't even devise a proper analogy, such is the pervading feeling of 'meh'.