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CONFESSIONS OF A SHOPAHOLIC (PG for mild profanity)

Perhaps the two novels by Sophie Kinsella might have read with some degree of amusement, but what happened when it came to the screen, no thanks to writers Tim Firth & Tracey Jackson, and P.J. Hogan's waaaaaay over the top direction, is a thorough waste of time, effort and expense - all sugary, gooey and stupid.

Isla Fisher gushes her way through the role of a vacuous shopaholic who can't pass a shop window without testing the dregs of her dozen credit cards. Odd thing - and I don't know if this is intentional or not - her taste is expensive but horribly horrible. Worse yet, her girlfriends, her handsome boss and everyone else in this movie are dodos - ignorant, brain dead. The movie is "Sex-City" or "Prada" without the taste and cleverness of a good script and capable director.

One wonders who blackmailed Jerry Bruckheimer into producing it.

F

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