Thursday, July 29, 2004
She must be stopped
And by "she," I of course mean Brittany Murphy. You know, I haven't always harbored such an intense loathing of Brittany Murphy. In fact, there was a time in the not-so-distant past when I actually liked her. OK, maybe like is too strong a word. But there definitely was a time when I found her not quite as annoying as I do now. You know, back when she was on The Torkelsons, or whatever the name of the show was after Dorothy Jane's mom got remarried and they had to move out of their nice Victorian house and go live with Brittany Murphy and the guy that's on every show (Jason Marsden). And she was perfectly tolerable in Clueless, although it occurs to me that perhaps her mastery of that role was due to the fact that playing someone really dumb wasn't such a stretch for her.
But then, somewhere along the line, someone decided that Brittany Murphy could carry her own romantic comedy. This quite possibly might have been the worst decision of all time. First there was Uptown Girls, a movie that I never intended to see but avoided even more carefully after reading Chase's scathing review of it. And then there was Little Black Book, a movie that, against my better judgment, I went to see last night.
My friend Danielle had free passes to the sneak preview, and, even though we both knew going in that the movie was going to suck, we hoped that perhaps Ron Livingston's presence could redeem it somewhat. Oh, how wrong we were. Ron Livingston cannot help this movie. In fact, there is nothing that can help this movie--not even a completely random cameo by Gavin Rossdale, the man who captured my 17-year-old heart. It's just that gut-wrenchingly awful.
So, in light of my unfortunate mistake, I'd like to issue the following public-service announcement, in hopes that it may be helpful to you now and in the future: Friends don't let friends watch Brittany Murphy movies.
And by "she," I of course mean Brittany Murphy. You know, I haven't always harbored such an intense loathing of Brittany Murphy. In fact, there was a time in the not-so-distant past when I actually liked her. OK, maybe like is too strong a word. But there definitely was a time when I found her not quite as annoying as I do now. You know, back when she was on The Torkelsons, or whatever the name of the show was after Dorothy Jane's mom got remarried and they had to move out of their nice Victorian house and go live with Brittany Murphy and the guy that's on every show (Jason Marsden). And she was perfectly tolerable in Clueless, although it occurs to me that perhaps her mastery of that role was due to the fact that playing someone really dumb wasn't such a stretch for her.
But then, somewhere along the line, someone decided that Brittany Murphy could carry her own romantic comedy. This quite possibly might have been the worst decision of all time. First there was Uptown Girls, a movie that I never intended to see but avoided even more carefully after reading Chase's scathing review of it. And then there was Little Black Book, a movie that, against my better judgment, I went to see last night.
My friend Danielle had free passes to the sneak preview, and, even though we both knew going in that the movie was going to suck, we hoped that perhaps Ron Livingston's presence could redeem it somewhat. Oh, how wrong we were. Ron Livingston cannot help this movie. In fact, there is nothing that can help this movie--not even a completely random cameo by Gavin Rossdale, the man who captured my 17-year-old heart. It's just that gut-wrenchingly awful.
So, in light of my unfortunate mistake, I'd like to issue the following public-service announcement, in hopes that it may be helpful to you now and in the future: Friends don't let friends watch Brittany Murphy movies.
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