There's several factors that hurt the movie, aside from Hunter's grating accent and the film's dependence on Murphy's naively ditzy on-screen persona. The ending is so outlandish and demeaning to intelligent film-goers, that it could have only been the end-result of a test audience's suggestions. It was the only way a movie as disappointing as this could become more disappointing. It's as though the director or producer or someone, got nervous about where the movie was heading, and went for the safe (and boring) route. But as soon as the twist happens, it's undone. The movie takes quite an unexpected turn, a dark one that makes it seem as though the movie is actually going to turn out to be pretty good. If you think you know where this is going, you're in for a surprise. Spurred on my her fellow producers Barb (Holly Hunter) and Ira (Kevin Sussman), she investigates to find out more about the exes, the supermodel, Lulu (Josie Maran), the doctor, Rachel (Rashida Jones) and the chef, Joyce (Julianne Nicholson.) What follows is your usual web-of-lies comedy, as Stacy tries to keep all the balls in the air. Derek left his home while on a business trip, and when she looks in it, inspired by work, she finds three ex-girlfriends he's maintained contact with. Conveniently, her new job, as an associate producer on a talk show hosted by Kippie Kann (Kathy Bates doing a pretty good Ricky Lake impersonation,) has her researching "little black books," or the modern equivalent, the Palm Handheld. That inability to believe puts her in position to second-guess her current relationship with hockey scout Derek (Ron Livingston, Office Space). Thanks to her mother's advice, she ruins her one good relationship with a man because she can't be certain about him. Murphy plays Stacy in Little Black Book, the product of a broken home, whose mother made her into a Diane Sawyer-worshipping Carly Simon-devotee. Since she's become the new Marilyn Monroe Lite (all the goofiness, little of the sex appeal, none of the glamour), she's managed to string together a career of ill-advised movies that capitalize mainly on her abilities to roll her eyes around in her head like marbles and giggle like a mental patient (perhaps a carry-over from Girl, Interrupted.) Sure, Roger Ebert likes her a lot, but he's also become friendly with Vincent Gallo, so he's hardly one to listen to now. Now that she's the star of her own movies, I wish she would go away. When Brittany Murphy was the sidekick, like Ty in Clueless, I couldn't get enough of her. Promise is squandered in this confused comedy
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