Confessions of a Shopaholic

It began as a simple question. "Did you want to screen Confessions of a Shopaholic?" she said. All I can really recall my reaction being was a loud and exaggerated scoff. There was no way in hell that I would be caught dead watching some dumb broad buy expensive clothes for an hour and a half. Somehow, someway, I found myself in the empty theater with the only reasonable companion one could bring to a film of this lesser caliber - alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol. What a strange night it soon unfolded to be. Love isn't that deep feeling associated with Ryan O'Neal, rather, it's that very shallow feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you realize that you can live off a hard working male for a bit. That's the way Hollywood portrays it anyways.

Take me home, pretty please?

Confessions of a Shopaholic wasn't so much as a film experience as it was an interactive socializing convention amidst the backdrop of a Legally Blonde meets Devil Wears Prada knock off. For me, this is something that I'd never quite experienced before. Added with drama, what we had here was a localized version of MST3K. On to the film, as you can tell from the tag line "All she wanted was a little credit", this is a coy and slimy attempt to lure the American woman into a film starring the toady Isla Fisher. Considering we're in a recession, this film might as well be the introduction of Shaft in the slave trade era. I can imagine the box office attendant and the ushers strung to a tree, feet dangling and flashlights rolling on the carpet. Experimentally, this is a film that's designed to cater to every woman's needs of shopping, lying, cheating, and manipulating their way into the hearts and pockets of men.


Carefully positioned between cold blooded slaughter and a speculative viewpoint, I'm approaching this film from every angle and I cannot admonish you from this film enough. As a date movie, it blows, simply. The trailer hinted not of a plot but with it lingered the stench of productivity and decay. I won't bother to see if this was fast tracked to release coinciding the debut of the new Friday the 13th film but I can realize that people will fall into two fan categories; those who want to see a "date movie" and those wanting to see a horror movie. Rebbecca Bloomwood is a shopaholic. After collecting a rather large debt and avoiding the collector while attempting to become a writer for a top fashion magazine, she encounters totalllyyy craaazzyy obstacles on the way. I refuse to ponder the thought any more but I don't recall watching women with debt taking shot after shot of liquor being PG material.

Glub glub

If you say "like", like every sentence then there's not a doubt in my mind that you will enjoy this film. After heading home, I realized how intoxicated I had become and how much this experience offended my every instinct and emotion. I felt like a ragdoll with no stitches. Like Rebbecca, I too was stressed at the fact that I had to live her life, even for a little over an hour. I was in no way the proper state to write on this film so being hungover will have to suffice for now. Confessions of a Shopaholic takes the very problematic scenario every film has (a woman) and injects it into a film about cosmopolitan dreamlands of money, fame, success, and green scarves. This is an absolute travesty of all existential unhappiness rolled into a tight ball streamlining the decay of womanhood in general. Upon second thought, Touchstone Pictures hasn't produced anything good in a while. Final Verdict: Leslie Bibb looks like a fish.

-mAQ