Ladies and
gentlemen, the most horrifying film of the year has arrived. And, no, I’m
not talking about the big-budget, mega-blockbuster likes of Open Water.
Little Black Book, a small independent film, starring no-names
Brittany Murphy and Holly Hunter scared me so much, I contemplated covering
my eyes, while viewing it. It’s an experience that is abundant in terror;
I’m not sure if I will be able to review movies in quite the same way I did,
before seeing this.
Well, I wish I was able to say that, at least. If
you’re really out of the times, I suppose it’s necessary to inform you that
Little Black Book has been released in nearly three-thousand
multiplexes, domestically, and Brittany Murphy is, unfortunately, a big
star. It’s not supposed to be an excruciating experience, but a lively,
funny, witty, and cutesy one. Much to my dismay, Little Black Book
turns out to be something along the lines of unbearable, idiotic, and
queasiness-inducing.
Many of Little Black Book’s defenders have
claimed that it is a new type of romantic comedy, one that doesn’t follow
the standard clichés of the genre. They may be correct, too. Sure, it
doesn’t follow the average plot-line, and, in the end, all things may not
turn out beautifully. But, does this excuse the formula it does utilize from
being nightmarish? Since when was “Giggle, cry, giggle, cry,
half-giggle-half-cry” a healthier routine for a motion picture than
“Happiness, then problems, then happiness again”? In fact, I think I’d
rather watch the latter film a thousand times than the former.
Here, Murphy plays Stacy Holt, an associate
producer at “The Kippie Kann Show”, a program that is similar to reality’s
“Jerry Springer”. During a meeting she attends, in which she and her
co-workers pitch ideas for future episodes, a man named Ira (Kevin Sussman)
announces his idea to film a segment about “little black books”, the things
that partners may hide secrets from each other in. This spurs Stacy’s
curiosity to look in her boyfriend Derek’s Palm Pilot, after he asks her to
look up some phone numbers for him, in it. Once she acquires enough courage
to take a peek, she finds several pictures of his old girlfriends, amongst
its many files. With that, Stacy decides to instigate his past
relationships.
The problem with Little Black Book is not
that it relies on superficial emotion to push its plot along, but that it’s
simply uninteresting. Stacy’s character is well-written; the fact that she
is a rather low person never mattered to me, when watching the film. But,
the fact that her life seems boring and pointless, even when she comes to
desensitizing realizations about it in the end, is inexcusable. Sympathy for
a character is often created by their behavior in certain situations. I can
only wish that that line was written in big, bold print on the title screen
of Derek’s Palm Pilot, for Stacy to find, and remember throughout the final
two acts of Little Black Book. Maybe she’d learn to be less boring,
then.
I thought that Brittany Murphy was just fine in
the fun Uptown Girls, the mysterious Don’t Say a Word, and
even the otherwise atrocious Just Married. This movie makes me
question whether or not she really is the lively, budding actress that I
thought she was, before. There is no animation in Stacy’s heart, only a
by-the-numbers interpretation of feeling, leaving Murphy at fault. But, I
suppose that there was really no room for her to roam in Little Black
Book; it is a wasteful and brain-dead motion picture that never takes
advantage of its assets. I couldn’t find anything mildly intriguing in it,
for the life of me. If it were a sweet, cheery, gigantic lollypop, it would
probably still be pretentious. If you can point out something interesting in
this film, send me an e-mail. I really wanted to be able to enjoy Little
Black Book as an unconventional comedy, but I failed miserably. When
there are only two or three amusing scenes in a movie, something is very
wrong. Something is very, very wrong.
-Danny, Bucket Reviews (8.12.2004)
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