Oh man, I was excited to hear that 
Jared Leto got really fat in order to play Mark David Chapman (the man who killed John Lennon), but I was ecstatic to hear that it sucked royally.
The film, Chapter 27, was officially rated an F by the AV Club, which, in my book, makes it worse than a Troma film (and I have a long standing awkward relationship with Troma, thanks to a biker in a wheelchair named Rimjob.)
E-Nuhn-Cee-Ayting every overwritten line as floridly and melodramatically as possible, Leto delivers a performance that unwittingly suggests Truman Capote playing Travis Bickle in a poverty-row remake of Taxi Driver.
Brilliant blogger Amelie Gillette of the Hater attended a screening where Leto (also the film’s exec. producer) answered questions from the audience. The question she wanted to ask but didn’t get the chance to was: “WHY?”
Most of the questions were along the lines of “You’re obviously great. How are you so great?” and “Oh my god. Sorry. I’m so nervous. Um, how did you gain all that weight?” I’m paraphrasing, of course, but not that much. The closest anyone came to asking “Why?” was the guy who asked (basically) “I don’t think this, but some critics have said that this movie is exploitative. I definitely don’t think that, but what do you think about critics saying that, which is something I personally would never ever say or think?” To which Leto ramblingly replied that art isn’t meant to be polite, and it’s the artist’s duty to examine difficult things. It was then I noticed that Leto wasn’t actually sitting in the chair the theater provided for him, but he was floating 3 feet above it, perched on a hard cushion of unbelievably thick pretension.
There is now no way I will not spend $10 plus Swedish Fish to see this movie. Uggs loves a stinker!
Because it's our prerogative 