Sometimes I just feel like watching a romantic comedy that doesn't ask too much of me. Sadly, these two films asked so little of me, I couldn't even sit through them in their entirety.
The Devil Wears Prada
While my Anne Hathaway issue kept me leery, the script is what really ripped the seams out of this one. More like, The Devil Writes Predictably. People rave about Meryl Streep's performance, but I wanted her to have even more bite.
Trust the Man
The first few lines of dialogue (David Duchovny talking to his kid about poop) clued me in that this movie was a stinkeroo. The script's indulgent screenwriter-y ain't-we-oh-so-witty attitude offended my ears post haste. Then my Julianne Moore issue arose again (I thought I'd cured it when she turned in such a great performance in Far From Heaven, but had a relapse with this film). Not cut out for comedy, this red-headed veteran of the silver screen. Awkward, awkward. When her character started dryly dictating an adult film's action at her onanistic husband's request, I lept for the remote. Ughhhhh. Not even appearances by two sentimental favorites of mine, Garry Shandling and James Le Gros, could save this one.
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