Little Black Book

Oh, it’s a sad, sad day when extreme insecurity and utter distrust lead a girlfriend to search through the hi-tech personal belongings and romantic past of her current beau. It’s even sadder that director Nick Hurran’s latest film portrays the always-peppy and perky Brittany Murphy as the jealous lady-love who shows more interest in a flatulence-filled dog and Diane Sawyer than in the boyfriend with whom she’s supposedly obsessed. This kink in the formula of Hollywood’s romantic comedy aside, the prying progresses with the help of an unethical co-worker (Holly Hunter) in the all-too-convenient setting of a Jerry Springer-like daytime talk show that allows the meddlesome mistress to stage mock interviews with her boyfriend’s former female flames. To no surprise, the curtain finally falls on the snooping scheme, but in such a shockingly insidious and manipulative way that I prefer to switch channels to Ricki Lake to learn how Grandma became Grandpa last week. So, maybe the saddest thing is someone who sees this flick by choice.