Like a broken bookcase, "Connie and Carla" doesn't work on so many levels.
To sum up the dumbed down "Victor/Victoria"-esque plot, Connie (Nia Valdaros, of "My Big Fat Greek Wedding Fame"--dangerously close to becoming a screen version of the one hit wonder) and Carla (Toni Collette--how on earth did she get mixed up in this nightmare?) are two Chicago girls that love performing showtunes in Cabaret, but, witness a mob murder, so go into hiding in LA--resurfacing in a Drag Club Cabaret bar as the hottest drag queens in town.
If that summary seemed a little brief, you're welcome. Because, in the play by play you weren't subjected to, this fairy tale tripe couldn't have gotten any worse if cast and crew collectively executed a suicide pact at the end, capturing every moment of death on film.
Valdaros and Collette are about as convincing as drag queens as Peter O'Toole would be if he ever decided to tackle the role of a pre-teen ballet dancer. Anyone who has seen drag can attest to the fact that the wit is scathing, the performers are larger than life, and each have a take-no-prisoners attitude while they're on stage. What Valdaros and Collette try to pass off as any of the above is the kind of caliber you'd expect to see at a Fifth Grade Comedy Night, sponsored by your local PTA.
To think that as performers, Connie and Carla would pack houses, much less get other queens to want to "learn from them," is down right laughable. While on stage, their jokes have been told twenty years ago by better--and the punch lines are delivered with the same pleasure as passing a kidney stone (if it weren't for the extras yucking it up in the background, god only knows when the punch line was supposed to happen...at least they were paid to react to the so called humor...the rest of us didn't fair so well). Their voices are by no means enviable, and to call the material the film producers would like you to believe is brilliant anything other than the dog doo you're witnessing first hand, is down right insulting to the viewer. In short, if these two were to try out their act at even the lamest of gay cabaret bars, they'd clear the room faster than a bomb threat.
The potholed premise aside, Valdaros and Collette don't even remotely resemble their roles--there isn't anything masculine about them. Bare in mind, every drag queen has an Adam's Apple. Lesbians, maybe--but, drag queens? Absolutely not.
Even the situational poignancy--like the estranged relationship between one fellow drag queen and his straight brother (played by David Duchovny--who I'm sure is still trying to live this one down) has all the sappy sentiment of the worst After School Special from your childhood. This film couldn't get to our hearts if it used a clever.
But, I do want you to rent it. Run out and rent every copy of this film that you possibly can, pile them up in your backyard, dowse them with gasoline, and burn them beyond recognition. It might seem like a pricey endeavor, but, in the long run, it'll be a small price to pay if it lets Hollywood know that you can hand it to us in a seemingly pretty package, but, if it's a pile of pig droppings, it's still going to stink.