We already have a no Spielberg policy in our house. It was the one-two punch of Minority Report and A.I., the former nonsensical, the latter queasily sentimental, both about 45 minutes too long, that caused the ban to come into effect. I think that I now need to effect my own Rom Com ban. Many funny women have noted how unfunny, how misogynistic, and how lazy romantic comedy has become. I noted it in passing in my sheepish review of He’s Just Not That Into You. But Confessions of a Shopaholic is the straw that broke the desperately-yearning-for-a-nice-squishy-evening-of-banter-and-fashion camel’s back. Isla Fisher had no discernable personality or sense. Hugh Dancy’s attraction to her was sudden, unfounded, and unbelievable. I hated almost all of her clothes, except the purple ruffly dress she wears for her comeuppance. There were zero funny lines. The plot didn’t even make sense. All the scenes in magazines couldn’t have been more unrealistic if they tried. I could go on, but I won’t. I am happy for Sandra Bullock, a real star and apparently a really nice person, that The Proposal was the #1 movie in America last weekend, but I will not rent it on DVD. I will not order it on Pay-Per-View. I will not. I will not.