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Another blasé quasi-romance

David Morgan

Here's a confession: this film reeks of plagiarism, which comes as hypocritical considering its main theme is just that, confessions-as the title explicitly states. At first glance, Confessions of a Shopaholic is merely a comical rip-off of The Devil Wears Prada, only with way too much pink. But the lame unoriginality goes deeper. First, there is the alluring fashion magazine's editor in chief, who at one point forgets the name of Hugh Dancy's character. Hmmm, isn't Vogue editor Anna Wintour notorious for that peccadillo? Dancy's character, the striking 30-something, successful journalist, is the son of a Manhattan socialist, whom he attempts to dissimulate although his whole life is completely ripped from Anderson Cooper's life story (in case you didn't know, his mother was Gloria Vanderbilt, also a Manhattan socialite, whom he veered from). Finally, there is the repeated quote, "once you're in, you're in." That's awfully reminiscent of the "ins" and "outs" of Project Runway.

And why do we need another trite romance? It's not that it's a romance. It's that it's the same romance with the same Pride and Prejudice-happy-ending. The reason Hollywood keeps chugging them out is because this stuff is like heroine for a particular demographic. When I sat down for this film, I immediately noticed I was the only guy in a room full of paired-off grandmas and small clusters of tweeny girls-one actually clapped at the end-all looking for some romance to cure them of their late February cases of Seasonal Affective Disorder. These movies do for women what porn does for guys-excuse the stereotypes for those guys who enjoy chick-flicks and those girls who enjoy porn. And I'm not talking about what your dirty mind is envisioning. I'm talking about that flood of goofiness that swirls through one's head when the climax of the romantic film comes at the ending. Girls need these poorly written scripts to get on with their dreaded lives just like everyone else. It's just another addiction and, therefore, another market.

Speaking of addiction, is it really appropriate for Confessions to make fun of the very real problem of bad spending from which millions suffer? The vibe that I got from this movie was, "Shopaholics, hah! What a bunch of BS. These people don't have problems." While on the other hand, it celebrates the fabulousness of swiping the life-givers that are credit cards.

To me, the film should have taken the stance that this is a serious epidemic, which has partly caused our dying economy. People like this shouldn't be idolized like main character Rebecca Bloomwood (Isla Fisher). They should have things thrown at them and endure constant insults while walking in the gutters of the sidewalks. Not really, but it's nothing humorous, and it is not entirely their faults. I do appreciate the manner in which the film paints the debt collector. Appropriately, he is seen drawing miniature sharks on his note pad during one scene (i.e., loan-shark).

After all, these loaners are guilty of predatory business that is fraudulent and deceptive. They skyrocket rates to 30 percent if one payment is missed. This portrayal is definitely ripped from the headlines, in its portrayal of the Americans' lack of knowledge on personal finance, yet it should have gone in an entirely different direction.

The romance is certainly adorable (just like Hugh Dancy), but it follow the same formula: awkward encounter, getting to know each other, things build up, the betrayal and finally they reunite, apologize and have lots of passionate sex. Instead of wasting your time with Confessions, just go to your DVD collection and re-watch Legally Blonde.

On a final note, I don't think Finland has gotten this much attention since Jacques Chirac insulted their cuisine in 2005. And I'm still not sure why.


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