Confessions of a Shopaholic Insults Us With New Images

Earlier today I got an email from a PR contact (who I imagine might not be sending me things anymore) that was, perhaps, one of the most insulting emails I’ve ever gotten. Granted, it’s not his fault. It’s the movie he’s promoting.

I can understand the frustration that must have gripped the producers of Confessions of a Shopaholic when an economic turn-down struck their audience base the very same week they released trailers in major theaters. However, it takes a special kind of arrogance to wait only a few months before releasing a film about a girl who blows through credit cards irresponsibly and annoyingly falls for a guy because he “speaks Prada.”

What kind of response are they expecting besides indifference or irritation?

Real people are being laid off from work. White collar and blue collar jobs are being shredded by the thousands. Banks are being taken over by other banks. Ponzi-scheming asshole are getting their mansions toilet papered. Hell, studios are in economic trouble, cutting jobs and even losing projects because the capital isn’t there. Now, Jerry Bruckheimer is about to drop a giant techni-color reminder that there may still be a few out there on spending sprees while the rest of us are warming our canned beans over the fire.

Exaggerations aside, I suppose the studio is hoping that this film will serve as Escapism for ailing consumers, offering them a glimpse at a dream life of spending and cutely working your way out of debt in exchange for ten dollars of hard-earned (or hard-saved) money.

I tried to have another response besides disgust when checking out these photos, which is hurtful because Isla Fisher is so adorable. But is this really the best time to release a film like this?

Sorry, Confessions, you missed the Legally Blonde apex of popularity by a few years.

A veteran of writing about movies for nearly a decade, Scott Beggs has been the Managing Editor of Film School Rejects since 2009. Despite speculation, he is not actually Walter Mathau's grandson. See? He can't even spell his name right.

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