As he trips lightly through the media circus leading up to the big moment in which he (“tastefully” — as they all say) gets naked for Playgirl, one wonders if young Levi knows that the magazine’s audience is about 90 percent gay men. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
As this sad, not quite tragic or sordid enough to be interesting, saga unfolds, the most amusing thing may be the reversal of gender roles. Oh sure, it looked at first as if pretty young Bristol Palin got knocked up, then dumped to deal all by herself. That made her the loser. But Levi Johnston has just stepped up, in a way I’ve never seen a male do, to play the rejected sex toy who decides that if a hot bod is all he’s got, why, he’ll make it work for him.
When you see the traditional version of this made-for-TV chick flick, usually about a now-dead minor starlet, ominous music starts when the still redeemable girl from wholesome/nowhere, USA, decides she can outsmart the sleazy photographer, or pornographers, or people who run “tasteful” skin rags. She is always just so sure that she’ll end up — without much damage along the way — a Star. All of a sudden the theme song from Valley of the Dolls is playing in the back of my head.
I suppose the meth-dealing mom isn’t going to sit him down for a talk about why he should get his GED and learn a trade?