Confessions of a Shopaholic
This is a movie about shopping in the same way that ‘A Perfect Storm’ was a movie about people who love to fish. Remember that movie about people who loved fishing SO MUCH that they went out fishing in a hurricane and DIED? Well, no one died in Confessions of a Shopaholic, but by the time it was over the credit cards in my pocket had melted a hole in my wallet and branded the VISA logo onto my thigh thanks to the sheer amount of gratuitous spending I had witnessed on screen.
Do you masturbate while flipping through the Ikea catalogue? How about writhe in spontaneous orgasm when presented with a Sears catalogue?
Well then you probably won’t understand or enjoy this movie. In order to really ‘get’ the Shopaholic experience you need to be one of those mindless, plastic-wielding drones who pours his or her student loan into dresses, coats, shoes and suits that are to be worn once and then discarded for the next shiny bauble glittering in a store window. Maybe you’ll spot some of these poor impulse control victims in the audience around you – they’re the ones with handbags that cost more than your car who took the bus to the movie and live in their parent’s basement.
Because let’s face it – as charming and whimsical as this film made excessive credit card debt seem, the reality of the situation is such that if you just ignore the $20,000 dollars you owe to Macy’s a big man named Butch will come over to your house, break both your legs and then set everything on fire. And piss on your dog. You can’t hide from creditors forever in our digital age, and banks are pretty much desperate to settle their accounts these days, lest they be ‘collected’ themselves.
Which brings us to the final issue with this film – the timing of the release. The current recession is possibly the single worst period within which to release a film about conspicuous consumption – particularly a comedy. The laughs are few and far between when it comes to sympathizing with someone so amazingly irresponsible as to spend every cent she has – and tens of thousands that she DOESN’T have – on something as fucking trivial as CLOTHING. Honestly, I’m surprised that there haven’t been riots and suicides during screenings of Shopaholic, given how many of us are currently unemployed or recently laid off right now.
Confessions of a Shopaholic is about as timely and welcome as giving a Stairmaster to a stroke victim. The only thing more disturbing than Wall Street greed? Hollywood greed – celebrated, painted pink and eternalized on celluloid.
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