Eight twentysomethings hit the hip streets of LA for some club life, binge drinking, and sex. The guys all drive luxury sport coupes, have über-yuppie jobs (one of them is a pro football player, even though the Rams are long gone), and chatter incessantly about getting laid. The young ladies are equally shallow: they dress to the nines, talk about blow jobs, and seem concerned only with self-fulfillment. After a lot of blue, back-lit posturing punctured with shards of popcorn psychology, they all get what they want until one of the swanky blondes (Tara Reid) cries date rape against the arrogant football stud (Jerry O'Connell).

That's when the "he" lawyer (a beleaguered-looking Sean Patrick Flanery) and the "she" lawyer (Amanda Peet) take sides and the film becomes a vapid marriage of 90210 and L.A. Law. The characters are listless, almost loathsome, and the dialogue is inanely irresponsible -- especially the football grunt's "she wanted it" spiel. About the only things that work in this trashy tedium, the inauspicious big-screen debut of playwright Michael Cristofer, are its techno backbeat, the vignettes of soft-core erotica, and Ron Livingston's hilariously tenacious horndog.