When movies starring big Hollywood names hit cinemas, you expect to see box office numbers that have a host of zeros in them.

Want to know how much Billionaire Boys Club, which stars double-Oscar winner Kevin Spacey, made on opening night in America? $126, and no, we haven’t made a typo.

The movie opened this past weekend to a limited release of just 10 theatres across America, but it’s clear that its affiliation with the disgraced actor has turned audiences off.

That’s not the movie’s only flaw, because if you like reading bad reviews, with a healthy dose of nasty thrown into the mix, then the Telegraph is a great place to start.

Landing a one-star rating, it’s scathing right from the off. Some of my favourite body shots:

 It should, in fact, be avoided like a contagious rash. Having spent 15 years in “directors’ jail” after reputedly finally finishing off Val Kilmer’s career with the calamitous drug heist caper Wonderland, Cox appears to have taken on the new project as a challenge to see if he can do even worse.

The answer is that he certainly can…

As Scorsese’s Wolf of Wall Street demonstrated it’s possible to make a compelling movie about a morally-compromised protagonist. But Cox is no Scorsese and Elgort’s boyish portrayal of Hunt pales against the layers of guile, sleaze and charm that Leonardo DiCaprio brought to Jordan Belfort.

The film will in all livelihood go down as Kevin Spacey’s final humiliation. But the truth is that not even the actor at his height of his powers – and respectability– could have saved Billionaire Boys Club.

Variety ends their review with this kick to the groin:

There are no billionaires here, just a lot of testosterone where the movie’s brains ought to be.

Over on the Hollywood Reporter, it was just as messy:

…it’s a derivative bore, all popped collars, douchey bros and hand-me-down psychology, that gets its characters up to their necks in borrowed money just long enough to have it really hurt when the accounts run dry. The killings that follow have little of the clammy-palms panic required of true-crime thrillers — despite Elgort’s credible performance — and the script leaves itself plenty of cheap back doors against the possibility that its version of events is totally wrong.

“Here’s the dirty little secret about being rich,” the movie begins — and then it proceeds to tell us nothing we haven’t all known about money for a very long time.

Probably best to give it a miss then, methinks.

[sources:telegraph&variety&thr]