Bil’s rating (out of 5): BB.
USA, 2009. Touchstone Pictures, Jerry Bruckheimer Films. Screenplay by Tracey Jackson, Tim Firth, Kayla Alpert, based on the novels Confessions of a Shopaholic and Shopaholic Takes Manhattan by Sophie Kinsella. Cinematography by Jo Willems. Produced by Jerry Bruckheimer. Music by James Newton Howard. Production Design by Kristi Zea. Costume Design by Patricia Field. Film Editing by William Goldenberg.
Rebecca Bloomwood (Isla Fisher) spent her childhood wishing she could shop like a big girl, then grows up to be a credit card-maxing spend-freak who has racked up thousands of dollars in designer goods while working that most cinematically glamorous of New York City jobs: a minor journalist. One sees her picking through boutique racks and sitting at her fluorescent laptop in alternate scenes and realizes that The Devil Wears Prada has now officially become a genre; unfortunately for this movie, however, Prada was also about integrity and self-respect, and Sex And The City was about actual grownups. In her bid to become a writer for her favourite fashion magazine, Rebecca gets a job at a financial publication under a dreamy editor (Hugh Dancy) for whom her heart soon begins to skip a beat. You can imagine her desperation to hide the true facts about her little addiction (not to mention the debt collector who has been trying to chase her down for nearly a year) considering she’s giving people advice in print about the dangers of in-store credit cards in her instantly popular column. Forced, tacky and overlong, this abysmal adaptation of two Sophie Kinsella books suffers from far too many “girl in New York” cliches and far too little humour; there are some good slapstick bits, but the rest of it moves like sludge and is far too dreadful to be charming. Fisher is cute, but she’s sort of a pared-down Amy Adams, while Dancy looks far too bored just being the cute guy in a weak comedy that can’t decide where to fit his romance in. Kristin Scott Thomas has some hilarious moments as the editor of the rag Rebecca aspires to, sort of a lighter version of Streep’s Miranda Priestley, while Lynn Redgrave turns in a hilarious unbilled cameo, but unfortunately neither they nor the other host of charming supporting performances can save this intermittently funny but mostly embarrassing disaster.