It is Day 3 of the interminable misery known as The Diet, and I confess I'm a little crankier than normal. In an attempt to distract ourselves from the pain gnawing at our guts, Carlye and I popped in "Little Black Book", which I picked up at the gas station of all places (it was a long wait, so it was that or the peanut butter cups).
It's a typical story, although made infinitely more watchable by Brittany Murphy's gravely giggle and -- I can't believe I'm even thinking this -- ultimate believability. It's not an ingenious plot; Girl meets boy, girl suspects boy is cheating, Girl stalks boy's attractive ex-girlfriends, two-thirds of whom are narcissistic, neurotic, delusional or all of the above. Girl bonds with token "cool and easygoing" ex, thereby creating much pathos when Girl's blunders are gleefully exposed on a Springer-format talk show hosted by a downward-trending Kathy Bates in Sally-Jessie drag.
In the end, the Girl doesn't get the boy. She doesn't even get the backup boy, her college sweetheart whom she bumps into after the dust settles. Despite being married to a very pregnant lady, he still finds it in his heart to tenderly touch Girl's hair and tell her sagely, "Go find your happiness." So she drives purposefully off into the New York autumn sunset. Just not with a guy.
Instead, she lands her dream job with Diane Sawyer, a pretty poorly disguised attempt at subverting the patriarchal monopoly of "happy ever afer" endings. I didn't buy it. Only a man hater or a lesbian would suggest that Prince Charming and broadcast journalism are interchangeable, and Girl was definitely neither of these.
Shit, if I wanted an ending with no lover and a messy, open-to-interpretation ending, I'd just watch my own life for a change.
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