Confessions of a Shopaholic (PG) *
By Connie Ogle, The Miami Herald
There may have been a worse time in history to release a light-hearted comedy about a young woman who can’t rein in her charge card. The Great Depression, maybe? Still, the current mushroom cloud of economic doom makes Confessions of a Shopaholic‘s Becky Bloomwood seem even more shallow and idiotic than she is, not a good thing when you’re hoping to trick an audience into identifying with her.
The movie, based on a series of novels by Sophie Kinsella, naturally reforms spendthrift magazine writer Becky (Isla Fisher) and forces her (and presumably us, since we’ve wasted 10 bucks to watch her) to realize the down side of unchecked materialism. It only takes this turn, however, after we watch her — eyes glazing rapidly — gush and fuss and babble over clothes and shoes and bags and scarves. Even Carrie and the girls, who at least found time to engage in plenty of sex and martinis, would find this child tiresome. ”A man will never love you or treat you as well as a store,” Becky yammers, and you can just imagine the Sex and the City veterans stomping her virginal self with their Manolos.
Becky’s dream is to work for a high-end fashion magazine, headed by the glamorous Alette (Kristin Scott Thomas, imperious with a fine French accent). Foiled temporarily, Becky lands a job at its brother business publication, inexplicably charming her way into a reporting job with some truly unimpressive columns that compare detailed economic issues to . . . shopping. (Carrie, remember, was at least amusing and insightful on occasion.) Becky’s work, though, captures the imagination of her Prince Charming boss (Hugh Dancy), who is handsome, British and independently wealthy, a sort of journalistic Mr. Darcy minus the attractive prickly qualities and any sort of personality whatsoever.
The comedy is slapstick, the colors Day Glo, the outcome inevitable. Fisher, likable enough in the Ryan Reynolds romcom Definitely, Maybe, does her best Elle Woods impression, but she’s faced with a couple of overwhelming problems. Becky is never as adorable as all the other characters tell us she is, and neither her irresponsibility nor her writing would keep her working for long.
Worse, a vague contempt for women exudes from far too many scenes, including one in which Becky wrestles another woman for a pair of half-price Gucci boots. Why, in movies, must women who care about fashion always be greedy airheads? Isn’t it possible that a well-adjusted nuclear physicist might have a yen for Prada? With any luck Confessions will end up as a tipping point, signaling the moment that women finally stopped paying to see themselves look stupid on screen. That would be quite a bargain.
Cast: Isla Fisher, Hugh Dancy, Krysten Ritter, Joan Cusack, John Goodman, Kristin Scott Thomas.
Director: P.J. Hogan.
Screenwriters: Tracey Jackson, Tim Firth, Kayla Alpert. Based on the novel by Sophie Kinsella.
Producer: Jerry Bruckheimer.
A Touchstone release. Running time: 112 minutes. Mild language, thematic elements. Playing at: area theaters.
This story was originally published February 13, 2009 at 2:02 AM.