We all do crazy things under stress. Some people hallucinate. Some people commit crimes. I consume garbage.
I mean, not literally garbage – you won’t find me outside by your trash bins, tossing back your eggshells and banana peels – but figuratively garbage: Pop-Tarts by the box, tabloid magazines, chick flick videos. Getting out of the house to munch down on your nutrient-rich eggshells and banana peels would probably be healthier. But what can I do? I am powerless in the face of my vice. Many deadlines? Get me a cheeseburger and an update on Tom and Katie.
I’m not proud of this, but I tell you in the interest of full disclosure that the other day I rented the movie The Ugly Truth. No one was home, which meant that I could watch anything I wanted and it would be my little secret. I crept shamefully to the video store in search of something that had a full-body shot of a man and a woman on the cover. To be specific, a sassy-looking woman with a man who looked like he’d been told. Maybe with her holding his tie. After hovering in front of anything remotely rom-comish just a little too long, I finally grabbed The Ugly Truth with sudden haste, like it was an X-rated movie and I didn’t want anyone to notice. I shot the salesgirl a gruff thank-you, shoved my embarrassing purchase into my purse and scurried home to consume it with relish.
I must, at one point, have seen an enjoyable chick flick; one so delightfully fun and rompy as to have inspired a lifetime’s secret love. Yet looking back, I recall only cringeworthy horror after cringeworthy horror: The Sweetest Thing, How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, 27 Dresses, Crossroads… The list is endless. The Ugly Truth was (no surprise here) one monumental addition to my growing compendium of WORST CHICK FLICKS EVER.
Let me tell you about it!
In the opening scene, our heroine, Abby (played by star-of-every-bad-chick-flick-movie-ever, Katherine Heigl), is arriving at her demanding job as the producer of an a.m. news show. Cool and unflappable, Abby has an answer for every staff member’s ridiculous problem before she even reaches her desk. Yes, she is efficient, all right! Clever, too. I know her type, the viewers are made to think. It looks like she’s got it all together, but if there’s one thing we’ve learned from movies of this ilk, it’s that no woman could ever be successful in business without being a lonely old hag at home. And sure enough, within minutes into the movie’s opening, Abby’s assistant/bestie is swooning over the dating profile of the man Abby is going out with that night. “Don’t screw it up!” she says, or something to that effect, anyway.
But – oh noes! She can’t help it. ‘Ere the man’s even ordered his dinner, Abby has pulled out the print-out of his profile, discussed his background check and drawn out a list of “talking points”. Are you thinking “control freak”? Well, don’t worry if you’re not, the script-writers point it out for you by having Abby’s date call her as much.
Back at home, Abby’s getting ready for another solo trip to bed when her cat (“cat” is movie-prop speak for “lonely spinster”) steps on the remote control and changes the channel to a cable access show called “The Ugly Truth”, where soon-to-be main character, Mike Chadway (played by handsome dreamboat, Gerald Butler), is dropping bombs of misogyny, like “Ladies! Don’t bother being smart, all men want is for you to not be fat!” or similar. Abby wants to turn it off but she’s huffing and puffing over his inflammatory statements and getting increasingly involved. Finally – WITHOUT BEING PROMPTED TO CALL OR BEING IN ANY WAY PROVIDED WITH A PHONE NUMBER – she begins angrily punching numbers into her phone and gets through immediately. A lengthy discussion ensues, far exceeding the length of any real-life call-in discussion, in which Mike Chadway cuts to the core of her, nearly breaking Abby’s tough-guy veneer, by calling her ugly. Man, he showed her.
The VERY NEXT MORNING, Abby’s boss announces that they have decided to hire a new TV personality for the show – SINCE YESTERDAY – and shows a clip from “The Ugly Truth”. In fact, it’s actually a clip of the discussion with Abby from THE NIGHT BEFORE! Boy, is she mad! Abby snaps off the TV and calls Mike Chadway a jerk, but then he walks in! Yikes, he’s already been hired. “You mean you signed the contract already?” asks Abby, agog. I was agog, too. When did he sign the contract? Last night at midnight?
Blah blah blah, more idiocy ensues. Abby decides she’s in love with her neighbour. Mike Chadway is like, “I know you don’t like me, but you have to admit that I know how to get men,” and he coaches her on winning her man a la Cyrano de Bergerac. During this coaching, natch, they realize that they love each other. Each moment - each single scene, sentence, glance, everything about this movie - was so stupendously bad that I want to be recompensated for it in some way. I want Sony Pictures to reimburse my life by 96 minutes. I think Sony should cover the costs of cryogenically freezing my body until reanimation becomes scientifically feasible, and then bring me back to life for 96 minutes so I can watch one other movie – any other movie – before sending me back to hell, which will probably be just one enormous multiplex theatre playing The Ugly Truth in every single cinema for the rest of eternity.
In the final scene, just to bring the absurdity full circle, Mike Chadway has left Abby’s show because of their love-drama, and Abby has attempted to replace him with a young man who takes the shock value thing too far when he tells audiences that women mean yes when they say no. Shooing him off the live camera, Abby does what is clearly the only thing that can be done in the situation: she takes the mic herself and starts reading off the men-are-scum riot act like she’s in the erstwhile CityTV Speaker’s Corner booth. Meanwhile, from across the… way? The park? From across the city? Mike Chadway, watching the diatribe on live TV, takes offense and rushes over to where Abby’s filming – in a matter of mere seconds – to defend himself. Hey, as it turns out, they’re standing in an air-balloon, which fires up and takes off while they’re in it, which they don’t notice, and the whole world watches them argue, resolve their differences, and declare their love. Impassioned pleas on the seemingly-heartless Mike Chadway’s part are interspersed with footage of everyone they know watching the show with baited breath, from various locales around the city.
I didn’t even bother to tell you about the a.m. news program, but Roger Ebert summed it up when he said it made Anchorman: The Ron Burgundy Story “look like a documentary.” Movies like this are like trans-saturated fat for the soul. No wait, that sounds too tasty. Toss this one out. It really is garbage.
All right, settle down, Twilight fans! According to 
