By Alan Scherstuhl
By Stephanie Zacharek
By Carolina Del Busto
By Amy Nicholson
By Simon Abrams
By Kevin Dilmore
By New Times
By Amy Nicholson
Enter Mike Chadway (Gerard Butler), a big, boorish lunk of a hunk, whose cable-access show, The Ugly Truth, advises men and women to seek "lust, not love." Abby finds his philosophy infuriating, only to discover that her boss has hired Mike to do a daily advice spot on the Sacramento morning show she produces. In the film's sharpest comic scene, played well by Butler, Mike makes his debut by giving on-air sex advice to the morning show's feuding husband-and-wife anchors (scene stealers Cheryl Hines and John Michael Higgins). Abby is mortified, but she and Mike eventually make a pact: He'll quit the show if his love advice fails to help Abby score the heart of her gorgeous doctor neighbor (Eric Winter).
Directed by Robert Luketic and written by Nicole Eastman, The Ugly Truth is at its best when Abby is at work. In gleefully long camera takes, Luketic and cinematographer Russell Carpenter (Titanic) glide around a modern TV studio, which, despite the shiny high-tech equipment, can't help but make one think of WJM, the quirky Minneapolis TV station where Mary Richards toiled in The Mary Tyler Moore Show. Like Mary, Abby is smart, quick-witted, and beloved by her co-workers, although it must be said that, unlike Mary's patented brand, Heigl's version of "spunk" often comes across as petulance. There's also something creepily infantile about Abby, a quality vividly on display when her co-workers find her curled up on the floor in a fetal position after having been usurped by her corporate bosses. Mary Richards would have slapped her in the face.
But maybe, like Abby, we're over-thinking things. The Ugly Truth is, after all, just another factory-authorized romantic comedy, soon to be digested and forgotten, even as its target demographic prepares for the next bad-but-must-be-seen Kate Hudson and Matthew McConaughey flick. Heigl and Butler have genuine chemistry, and the writers have given the duo some bitchy, snappy dialogue. But in this day and age, witty banter and stars with chemistry aren't enough to catch an audience's attention. And so it is that Mike talks raunchily about what women really want (hard, rough, and often), while also helping Abby discover the joys of saying dirty words in public places, as well as the pleasures to be found in wearing a very special undergarment.
Speaking of: If you do a Google search for "vibrating bikini underwear for women," all manner of adult sex-accessory sites will appear, each offering remote-control-operated panties, thongs, and G-strings. In the coming months, the makers of such specialty items may notice an up-tick in sales as moviegoers experience the sure-to-be-talked-about scene in which Abby, while wearing Mike's gift to a business dinner, accidentally vibrates herself to orgasm. Loudly. Intended, surely, as an homage to Meg Ryan's famous When Harry Met Sally lesson in how to fake the big one, the sight of Heigl contorting in public ecstasy is either hysterical or horrifying, depending on your particular sensibilities. (For me: horrifying.) Regardless, the scene proves again that in Hollywood, if not America itself, there are no new ideas — only better technology.
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