In Theaters

HEAD OVER HEELS, directed by Mark Waters, written by Ron Burch and David Kidd, 91 minutes, PG-13.

It probably won’t surprise anyone to learn that the new Mark Waters comedy, “Head Over Heels,” has as much meat on it as a supermodel, but what might surprise some is that a movie as stupid and as inconsequential as this could potentially stand as an important turning point in pop culture.

The film, which features real-life supermodels Sarah O’Hare, Shalom Harlow, Ivana Milicevic and Tomiko Fraser in supporting roles, follows Amanda Pierce (Monica Potter), a weak-in-the-knees art restorer at the Museum of Modern Art who’s eager to meet the man of her dreams.

Amanda believes she’s met that man in Freddie Prinze Jr.’s Jim Winston, but after witnessing him kill a woman in a scene straight out of Hitchcock’s “Rear Window,” Amanda finds herself in a bit of a quandary – should she just ignore the murder and stay with Jim, who’s way cute and charming? Or should she move on with her life and find someone new?

Such dilemmas are at the core of a movie that’s about as toxic as a Dexatrim salad.

Still, “Head Over Heels” is nevertheless important for what it might suggest for the future of pop films. If you do see it, the key to its importance rests in Monica Potter’s performance.

Close your eyes and listen to her voice. Sound familiar? Now open your eyes and pay attention to her not-so-unique brand of vulnerability, her slightly wounded expressions, her goofy malapropisms, the awkward way she moves across the screen, her impossibly wide smile.

Remind you of anyone? It should. Throughout the film, Potter’s impersonation of Julia Roberts is so uncanny, bizarre and distractingly accurate, it’s sometimes difficult to remember that she’s supposed to be playing a character here – and not the hugely popular, Golden Globe-winning actress of “Erin Brockovich.”

All actors have their bag of tricks, some of which they share, but in this movie, Julia Roberts’ bag of tricks has been stolen. There’s no other way to explain it. Potter isn’t playing Amanda Pierce here. She’s Monica Potter playing Julia Roberts playing Amanda Pierce.

It’s as if the film industry, mirroring the music industry – where boy bands and girl groups have become so relentlessly homogenized, it’s almost impossible to tell them or their music apart – wants to move toward total homogenization in movies. For our culture, that means one giant leap forward in its ongoing decline. For fans of movies, it could mean more generic films than ever.

Grade: D

On Video

WHIPPED, written and directed by Peter M. Cohen, 85 minutes, Rated R.

Just when you think movies can’t get any worse, along comes a film like “Whipped,” which takes misogyny to a whole new low.

The film is obscene for the sake of being obscene, raunchy and cruel for the sake of being raunchy and cruel. It’s no comedy. It’s one of the meanest bits of trash to come to video stores in years and it’s hateful for what it is – a movie that feels it’s being cute in its obvious hatred of women, when in fact it only exposes Peter Cohen, its writer, producer and director, as a man who should be slapped by every woman on earth.

In the film, three urban Neanderthals (played by Brian Van Holt, Zorie Barber and Jonathan Abrahams) meet for breakfast each Sunday to discuss their sexual exploits, which are so peppered with their clear loathing of women, they could never be printed in a family paper – let alone in quality publications such as Hustler or Honey.

The men are joined by Eric (Judah Domke), a vile piece of work who’s ostracized from the group because he did the wrong thing and actually got married, something none of these three could ever fathom until they meet Mia (Amanda Peet), a woman who seemingly has it all because, as this film and these men see it, she serves a woman’s purpose in being “great in bed.”

Initially, none of the men know they’re sleeping with the same woman, but Mia certainly knows. She’s carrying on an affair with three men – which, naturally, allows the film to brand her as “loose” and as a “tramp.”

The film’s turning point – and I doubt I’m giving anything away here – comes when the men learn they’re not only sleeping with Mia, but falling in love with her. As their friendships dissolve, Mia’s power grows – until the film ultimately exposes her to be worse than they.

It’s not often that one’s jaw drops while seeing a movie, but in this film, it’s part of the ongoing experience, a badge of honor Cohen sports with immature glee.

Each of these characters seems as if they crawled out of a petri dish and started a new strain of bacteria, one that will probably go on to star in snuff films. In just 30 minutes, you’ll either want to hose down your television with Lysol or dip yourself in bleach. “Whipped” is that offensive, that rotten, and it easily stands as one of the worst films in years.

Grade: F-

Christopher Smith is the Bangor Daily News film critic. His reviews appear Monday’s in Style, Thursdays in the scene, Tuesdays on “NEWS CENTER at 5” and Thursdays on “NEWS CENTER at 5:30” on WLBZ-2 and WCSH-6.