Confessions of a Shopaholic

Here's the question that runs through your mind after watching CONFESSIONS OF A SHOPAHOLIC: Is that all there is to it? (Which makes it a little like shopping on credit cards.) Delightful in parts but regrettably not as a whole, the movie can't seem to decide what audiences should take away from it. The shopping segments are all Sex and the City-style aspiration, but the guilt is soon heaped on in piles. What, then, is the point of dwelling on the buying binges? Had the movie amped up the fantasy part and toned down the finger-wagging, it would've been first-class escapism. As it stands, it's a lot like having your credit card denied at the checkout -- oh, what a buzz kill!

Fisher tries hard to make a go of the enterprise, but she can't rescue the film's flawed script. A jumble of plot points raises the stakes but doesn't pay off, characters who seem important early on disappear later, and nearly every role is a romcom stereotype -- the eccentric-but-lovable lead; the gawky, fun best friend; the slightly brooding, self-serious romantic interest. It's too bad, really, because on paper, Shopaholic had the makings of a blockbuster: inspired by bestselling novels, beautiful New York as its backdrop, and a stellar cast (especially supporting players like John Goodman and Joan Cusack). It's an impulse buy you may not fully regret, but one you won't love, either.