My mystification continues.

Rating: 1/10 (19 February 2005)

No, *Hitch* is decidedly NOT a romantic-comedy about bilious (and bibulous) former-Leftist-pundit-turned-reactionary-pundit Christopher Hitchens, though it sure would've made for a funnier movie. A dumpy little Englishman, teeth stained black from cigarettes and Guinness, barking out advice -- and acerbic political commentary -- to lovelorn men: "Look into her EYES when you speak to her, you nutter! And remember: calling someone a 'neo-conservative' makes you a de facto anti-Semite! Can't you get anything straight, you liberal pantywaist?"
Oh well. Instead, we get Will Smith, whose continuing success remains a mystery to me, at least. I am apparently alone in this regard. Smith is the most powerful man in Hollywood as of this writing: Americans just can't help throwing their money at him. I, on the other hand, find his smugness insufferable, unmitigated by a scene here (spoiled by the trailer) where he suffers a drastic allergic reaction to seafood. We know Smith will bounce back to his bland, over-muscled good looks, because there's a fat sit-com actor (Kevin James) on hand making a fool of himself. We're supposed to laugh hysterically whenever the slob starts dancing like a jackass (cue "Everybody Dance Now!" by CC Music Factory), but why would a straight-arrow accountant behave in such a way? I've worked with several straight-arrow accountants for years, and I can tell you that if, in Norman Mailer's memorable phrase, "tough guys don't dance", neither do straight-arrow accountants. Am I taking all this too seriously? Or -- and here's a daring thought -- perhaps the writers couldn't conceive a logically-drawn character to save their lives?
Speaking of the writers, they come up with a lousy idea for Smith's love interest: a writer for a tabloid (Eva Mendes). Since when do tabloid creeps deserve love? What universe am I in, anyway? -- everyone here at IMDb is actually gushing over this tripe. Either you all need to raise the bar, in terms of entertainment value for your buck, or I'm just a skunk at the garden party. (Me, and about 150 million other long-suffering boyfriends and husbands.) In any case, if I may imitate Smith's Hitch and offer my male readers some smooth advice: when you're dragged to see *Hitch*, say to your Better Half, "Hey, that was pretty good" after the movie is over. Don't be overenthusiastic; don't rave about it -- she'll know you're lying to her. Praise it in a lightly surprised way, as if the movie was better than you expected and wasn't the agonizing time-waster that it actually was. But what am I saying, eh, fellas? -- we dudes know all the moves.
1 star out of 10.