Review: What’s Your Number?

March 26, 2012

Well, this has been a productive fucking month, hasn’t it? I had intended for this to be the first of my video reviews, but things always kept coming up, not to mention the sudden wanderlust of my parents and their wanting to bring me along for the ride, and the corner I’d intended to reviews from was cluttered as hell, and I never got around to cleaning up, and I was kind of hoping for someone to throw out a halfway decent chair, and I turned into a lazy bastard in March, and I have little to no enthusiasm for the movies I picked, and it would just be unfeasible to get five reviews plus two impact recaps (three if you count the one that’s been sitting unedited on my hard drive for the past week or so) done while my father’s off for spring break, and the DVR isn’t working in either bedroom despite being a whole-house DVR, and the repair guy never showed today, and I want some iced tea, and I know you know I want it now.

Anyway, the past is past, the future’s now. And now it’s time for What’s Your Number?, a movie that I cared so little about that I couldn’t even rant about the trailer. We start off in the logical place, with the opening credits. Only they’re playing over a series of Cosmo-ish magazine quizzes that are the most stereotypical things I’ve ever seen. Things like, Reel Him In? Throw him Back? How to know if he’s a catch!Stalking Your Ex: Not The Healthiest, But When You Gotta…, and When Your Sister Is Just Plain Better Than You. My God, these don’t even sound like real magazine articles – they sound like the kind of things that douche boyfriends think is in their girlfriend’s magazines.

I’d like to take a moment to remind you now that this screenplay was written by two women and adapted from a novel written by a third woman. Because, hey, who says women can’t be misogynistic too?

I’ll spare on the details so I can ruthlessly crib from Wikipedia and skip the parts of the movie that I don’t care about, but the main plot involves Anna Ferris, after realizing that she has had twice the average ten sexual partners in her lifetime (again, thanks to a near-parody Cosmo-ish article), searching through her list of conquests to see if any of them have matured into the man of her dreams for her to marry.

Okay, I’m going to divert from plot for a moment for a mini-rant. It seems like every romantic comedy made in the last twenty years or so has the female lead wanting to get married not out of any sort of actual affection for their partner, but because it’s what they perceive as the societal norm, that women are supposed to settle down when they reach a certain age. And that right there is some new jack played out bullshit. Speaking generally, people don’t get married because they feel like they’re supposed to. People get married because they FUCKING LOVE EACH OTHER. Now, more specifically, yes. There are couples who get together on the basis of, hey, we’re not getting any younger. But that reasoning for making a lifetime commitment, that they are physically the closest person to you, is just utter insanity. That’s the kind of marriage that ends in divorce (well, that, and ones where the couple gets married way too young, or where they’re only physically attracted to each other), the kind where they don’t really have any real affection for their significant other. So congratulations. I have now ruined for you the ending to, I’d say 90% of romantic comedies made since 1992. You’re welcome!

In the end, she winds up getting together with her neighbor Colin who she’s been helping duck his bedmates since the beginning of the movie. And honestly, I wish they had just hooked up back then and saved us about an hour and a half. Now, to be fair, there is one positive note here. Anna Farris’ comedic timing is dead-on-balls accurate. But that’s like trying to raise the Titanic with your teeth: It’s a valiant effort, but it just ain’t happening. And when it comes down to it, What’s Your Number isn’t worth the fifteen bucks for the DVD; it isn’t even worth the dollar to rent it from most machines.


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