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Slow pace in the most part of the movie.

Lack of good storyline.

Story: It's very simple but honestly that is fine.

All of these films share one commonality, that being a kind of emotional center that humanizes a cast of monsters.

Breast Men is a very entertaining film, and not just because it features more naked boobs than Russ Meyer could shake a stick at.Somewhat loosely based on a true story, this is a film about the creators of the silicone breast implant. Kevin Saunders (David Schwimmer) is the desperately intense and socially clueless young medical student and Bill Larson (Chris Cooper) is the arrogant but somewhat insecure doctor training Kevin to be a plastic surgeon. Kevin comes up with the idea and Larson initially resists it but comes around in frustration at other physicians considering plastic surgeons to be nothing more than "beauticians". They encounter nothing but resistance, both from the medical profession and from women. The only real support they receive is from Dow Corning chemical company, who is more than pleased to find a new use for the silicone on which they own a patent. With no other options, Larson decides to use his own money to open a clinic to provide implants to women but it takes Kevin breaking another medical taboo and advertising to start them on their way to success. And what success they have. They can barely keep up with the demand. But then Kevin and Larson have a falling out, sending Kevin down a dark road of strippers and drugs and ever larger implants for ever more neurotic and unhappy women. Then the great silicone implant medical scare almost destroys both men and their practices, but it's ultimately Kevin who finds the silver lining in that dark cloud.This movie works on several different levels. It's both a fun little history of the breast implant era, an examination of partnership, a look at women's complicated relationships with their bodies and it tells the story of Kevin's growth from dysfunctional and somewhat emotionally stunted young man to a grown up but not particularly nice guy.David Schwimmer really gives a fine performance, even while burdened with a retrospective of bad haircuts of the later 20th century. Yes, for a while it does seem like he's just playing Ross from Friends. That's probably an albatross he'll have to carry on every acting job he ever has for the rest of his life. But it doesn't take him long to shed that persona and show us that Kevin Saunders is quite a different person. He's one of those guys who's always wanting, but never quite sure what it is he wants or how he can get. That need drives him to do exceptional things that other people wouldn't do. Without the more controlled and self-aware Larson as his partner, however, Kevin would have never gotten anywhere. Like a car without a driver, Kevin would have just sat in the garage getting rusty. Larson is like the driver. Without a car, he's stuck on the side of the road going nowhere. Kevin's ceaseless wanting eventually leads him to want to be both car and driver, but he can't handle it. Without Larson's stability, Kevin degenerates as a person and as a doctor. Even at his peak success when he's fabulously wealthy, Kevin is crude and needy and unhappy.Larson is the smaller role in the story, but it's not uninteresting. He's the man who makes the Faustian bargain. He always believed plastic surgery was important but needs other people to validate his status. So he latches on to the breast implant as his version of an organ transplant or miracle vaccine. But as the use of breast implants for simple enlargement, as opposed to cosmetic or reconstructive uses, comes to dominate his profession and his practice, Larson grows more and more bitter and insecure. It's as though he realizes that sticking big boobs on otherwise perfectly normal women really is more like being a beautician than a doctor.Emily Proctor also does a fine job as a young nurse who somewhat reflects cultural attitudes toward silicone implants. At first she's offended at the suggestion she get them. Then she wants implants to feel better about herself. Then she wants them removed as a way of taking control of her aging body. And yes, we do get to see her unaltered knockers. They're very nice and the fact that a beautiful woman with such a fine, normal bosom feels the need for surgical enhancement is one of the ways this film tries to grapple with the ethical questions of breast enlargement.While the movie does wallow in some of the sleazier and more libidinous aspects of breast implant, it takes a generally even handed view of the issue. Beyond their use for women who've suffered some sort of damage or trauma to their breasts, this story suggests that women simply wanting bigger breasts so they feel better about themselves isn't such a bad thing. But it also acknowledges that once you open up that door, it becomes almost impossible to close it again. To put it another way, Breast Men accepts that it's probably okay for a woman to want to go from an A cup to a C cup. But it also implies that if you accept that, there's no way to really object to unhealthy extremes like multiple surgeries and going from A to C to FFF.If you'd like to watch a movie that addresses the cultural questions and arguments over the silicone breast implant, while making you laugh more than a few times, you'll enjoy Breast Men. If you'd just like to ogle an enormous number of bare boobs, this movie is good for that as well.

With a title like "Breast Men", one would expect at least some entertainment value, a little bit of cheesy humor, something that would live up to the promise of the title. Well, friends, this movie fails to deliver on almost every level. How, you may wonder, can this be? This movie makes medical history, breasts, and the 60s, 70s, and 80s boring--no small feat.First off--yes, there are breasts. Lots of them. Large, small, droopy, and perky. Some of the talking head bits (well really talking breasts, since we see no heads), somewhat like those in the vastly superior "Kinsey", are mildly amusing. The two brightest elements in the film are Lisa Marie--as the model for the breast implant--and Emily Proctor, injecting a good deal of charm into what is a generally charmless firm.The film follows the careers of Drs. Saunders (David Schwimmer) and Larson (Chris Cooper), the inventors of the breast implant. (Supposedly, the film is based on the actual inventors. Let us hope that their lives were somewhat more interesting.) We start with the stereotypes of the gruff older doctor (Cooper) and the young inventive hotshot (Schwimmer) and sink rapidly from there. Chris Cooper is a far better actor than one would guess from performance--all he is here is a bundle of crabbiness. David Schwimmer is far worse--does this man have any talent besides a hangdog look? Here, he goes from young and hangdog to sleazy and hangdog to sleazier and hangdog--it is a merciful relief (spoiler) when his Corvette gets mashed at the end of the film. He maintains one basic expression--constipated. (It would be interesting to match him with Kristin Scott Thomas, who also looks perpetually blocked...wait, that is just too dreadful to contemplate.) Oh yes, the music isn't bad, and the costumer designer and art director had some fun with some truly hideous 70s styles. But the visual delights are not enough. If you could roast this turkey, it would be completely lacking in taste and texture. (I give it a two only for the music and the art direction.) As Charlie Brown would say--bleahhh.

About two pounds of fatty tissue and 34 lactiferous ducts. Nothing more than modified sweat glands. Platypuses don't have them; the females just ooze a nutrient-enriched sweat from their bellies. Most of the three or four thousand cultures we have information on don't care whether they're big or small, or whether anybody else sees them or not. So why do bosoms cause so much trouble? Dr. Saunders (Schwimmer) is a recent med school graduate. Dr. Larson (Cooper) is an older reconstructive surgeon. They couldn't be more mismatched. Larson is conservative and arrogant. He wears suits and ties. Saunders is an inventive Schmuck with a droopy face and childishly peeved voice that's all the funnier when it tries to express outrage. They become partners and Larson funds Saunders' invention, a kind of Blue Ice for breasts. But no plastic surgeon becomes an overnight star. Larson and Saunders are ridiculed by other staff at the Texas Medical Center -- "beauticians". Larson sits alone at a party, drunk, and is finally approached by another doctor who gestures at an empty chair. "Anybody using this?" he asks. "Help yourself," replies Larson. The other guy picks up the empty chair and walks off with it.Saunders, though, is a salesman. It was infra-dig for doctors to advertise. But Saunders implants an ad in the local paper, so to speak, that generates enough business to make both of them filthy rich. Larson starts to hog all the credit. The two men go their separate ways.On his own, Saunders forges ahead with the willing compliance of his patients. "So when can we schedule?", they ask him eagerly. His patients begin to speak in public of the empowerment they now feel with their bigger bosoms. And the bosoms get bigger and bigger. They go from around 200 ccs to double that. Some of the breasts become monstrous soccer balls, so grotesquely out of proportion that the patients have trouble finding clothes. The dissatisfied, the distorted, the bereft flock to Saunders to be reborn. Saunders gets into the 70s thing. Disco, coke, a Playboy mansion of his own. His maid takes a visitor through the bunny-filled 14-million-square-foot megabarn and points out the "real marble" floors and mentions that "there are lots of impressionist paintings -- from France." Saunders sucks fruit-juice cocktails through a twirled neon-green plastic straw. He's Citizen Saunders.Then the downhill plunge. We are by now into the age of Oprah and Phil. A handful of ex-patients who have gotten diseases such as lupus and rheumatoid arthritis turn up on TV and sensationalize their illnesses, blaming them on Dr. Saunders and his damme implants. Feminists claim that before their implants they were treated with respect at the bank. Now their fellow employees whistle at them and ogle them. The lawyers descend on the problem like a flock of vultures. Trouble with your implants? "Call 1-800-RUPTURE." Suits are brought against the company manufacturing the implants, although the link between illness and implants is more emotional than scientific. Both doctors businesses bite the dust. Larson dies of a heart attack, Saunders when his Porsche is mangled by an 18-wheeler.It shouldn't be funny but it is. Both of these guys are rapacious in their own separate ways -- Larson for money and fame, Saunders for the satisfaction of his stimulus hunger. They're as transparent in their needs as Harpo Marx. And the poor guys can't escape the breasts. The breasts are all around them, haunting them. They can't go to a private club without some ex-patient lap dancing and thrusting her hypermastic chest into their faces. Their eggs, sunnyside up, look like two breast with nipples. A birthday cake for Larson looks like it's decorated with a simulacrum of Mt. Everest, with K-2 right next door. The bottom of Saunders' swimming pool is decorated with a painting of a pair of breasts. And there is humor in the dialog as well. At the beginning, Saunders has finally found his first volunteer, a sexy young woman willing to have her breasts molded in plastic. She stands there wrinkling her nose with distaste at Saunders' modest apartment. "I thought doctors were supposed to -- have money," she comments acidly. Saunders is meanwhile plastering her breasts with goo, smoothing the stuff, squeezing her breasts. "How about after?" he asks. "Maybe we could go bowling."The movie is really quite amusing, and it's a good lesson in sociology too. The human brain seems to prefer simple solutions to complicated ones. Thus, for instance, a lot of viewers are likely to blame Drs. Larson and Saunders for the whole crazy fad of huge breasts. But, simple as such apportionment of blame may be, it would be wrong. It takes two to tango -- or in this case, many more than two. The women are only too happy to have their breasts change. First, a little bigger, then gargantuan, then smaller again, and maybe a little bigger next time. But it's not only the women who are to blame. They operate within a cultural setting that in some ways they see as demanding a perfection of them that they simply can't offer. And who's behind that culture? Men? Well, yes, in a way too. But men in other cultures don't ordinarily care whether their mates have big breasts or not. Our own men didn't either, back in the 1920s, when flappers bound their bosoms to make them smaller. Something rotten in the culture? If so, then all cultures are rotten because they all decorate their bodies somehow -- with paint, tattoos, lip rings, neck bands, or scars.The issue the movie really deals with is not breasts at all, but human nature. This could be the story of the hula hoop. That's what makes it funny. We can afford to laugh because, although it is ourselves we are laughing at, we're being ridiculed in a movie that disguises itself as a story about chests.

Trust trailers to always be made in such a way that it makes a movie much more interesting and exciting than it really is. Although Schwimmer can act, in this case, he probably doesn't suit the role. The only sense I can see in casting him in his role as one of the doctors is that he looks the part of the nerdy/geeky doctor who thinks breast-implants are good by being a voyeur, who later becomes so full of himself he becomes his own nightmare.Although this is billed as docu-drama, it feels more like a fictional reality-based show. The trailers make it seem as though as if the film would be filled with women with small breasts who finally make it better with fuller ones, but in the show, the breasts that are shown (faceless), whether pre- or post-op, are sometimes scary-looking, and mostly very turn-offish. Of course, I don't mean that you should watch this show for the bare breasts, but at least try not to scare off the viewers. Or at least give them some warning in the trailers or at the beginning of the movie.