Dave's Rating:


Chick flick for people who hate chicks.

Who's In It: Katherine Heigl, Gerard Butler

The Basics: He's a piggish boor. She's a controlling, uptight pain in the ass. And yet, somehow, they fall into each others arms thanks to his weird Pygmalion-like abuse, her penchant for public humiliation and the erotic power of hot-air balloon rides (against green-screen backdrops so unreal they might as well have just put the hyperspeed imagery from Madonna's "Ray of Light" video behind them instead). I would suggest it be more appropriately titled When Horny Met Shrieky but that might entice people to actually go see it.

What's The Deal: Katherine Heigl is on a roll now, the emerging queen of chick flicks for people who hate chicks. After the smashing success of the barfy 27 Dresses, she's executive producing her own films and greenlighting projects that ape that earlier movie's disturbing formula. It goes like this: she gets roughly taken down a dozen or so pegs and shoved through the jerk-guy wringer before she triumphs by falling in love with the special man who used to hate her, the one who's been changed by her supernaturally stiff and generically adorable charms. At this rate her directorial debut is eventually going to be a remake of I Spit On Your Grave where the woman just falls in love with all her rapists at the end.

All Dick Jokes Are Not Created Equal: This here is a "saucy" R-rated romantic comedy. And it's rated R for its language, not for its sexual content. (That's because the one humpy scene involves our heroine doing it with her La Perla Wonder-Contract Negotiation still on.) But it boils down to a lot of moments where people blurt out naughty euphemisms for "penis" and "vagina" with all the daring of a four-year-old uttering Baby's First Bad-Swear. It's like someone in a boardroom said, "R-rated comedies are hot again! Let's make them drop F-bombs all over the place!"

Orange-Orange Alert: Who hired the makeup people for this movie? I mean, I assume they're usually good at what they do. But everyone here--and I mean everyone--looks like they just escaped from some kind of crazy hell-tan salon or were recently pranked by Anne Hathaway's character in Bride Wars. So my fantasy (and if you worked on this movie then please don't ruin this fantasy for me) is that all the actors on the set were so unpleasant to work with that the crew conspired to just keep spraying more and more Sunkist soda-grade tanning juice on them day after day until they looked like Naugahyde couches from 1977.

Special Warning For People Like Me Who Will Watch An Extremely Mediocre Film On Cable If They're Too Lazy Or Hungover To Get Up And Find The Remote That They're Actually Lying On Top of Because It's Buried In The Sofa Cushions: This movie isn't even in that special class of films I like to call the Practical Magic genre. Find that remote. Watch the show on The Learning Channel about the 187-pound face tumor instead.


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