Am I insulted by a movie that semi-glorifies the consumer debt culture that helped precipitate the current, global financial crisis? No, or at least I don’t feel nearly as insulted by that as I do that someone tried to pass this off as comedy. In a way, Confessions of a Shopaholic offers a strange counterpoint to the thriller The International in terms of timely, finance related fantasies. In one, a giant bank is evil and must be stopped and in the other spending your brains out is fine so long as you can write it off as an addiction and are really, really sorry about it.

But reality intrudes because not everyone that spent themselves into a giant hole of consumer debt is able to dig themselves out in quit so fairy tale-a-fashion. I realize that romantic-comedies are rarely known for their down to earth realism, but there’s something about the gluttony and avarice on display in this film – given prevailing conditions talked about on the nightly news – that doesn’t sit right. Rebecca Bloomwood (Isla Fisher) is one of millions of Americans that have spent themselves into a deep hole filled with designer goods and cute bobbles that they really don’t need, but can’t seem to stop themselves from buying.

To illustrate, Rebecca’s so hooked on the shopping drug that she stops to buy a scarf on her way to the job interview she’s waiting years to go to, and then spreads the price tag over about a dozen credit cards. And then, when she still comes up 20 bucks short, she tries to get cash back from a hot dog vendor. Like any addict, it’s not until she hits rock bottom that she truly appreciates that she has a problem, and as these things go it involves the betrayal of the best friend, the boy friend, her career success, her skin-flint parents and her very dignity. The theme of spending as addiction is interesting, but too often it’s treated as joke. I think there are a lot of people out there that missed the punchline.

Also, people aren’t quite so lucky as Rebecca Bloomwood and aren’t able to basically walk into a job they’re not qualified for and succeed; not to mention win the affections of the handsomely British Hugh Dancy. When Confessions isn’t busy making a mockery of fiscal irresponsibility and poor budgeting, it embraces those frivolous rom-com clichés. Rebecca is typically flighty, but anyone comparing shopping to falling in love would have to be. Naturally, the boss she initially detests becomes her soulmate, her long suffering best friend reaches a breaking point and she succeeds in spite of herself despite repeated social faux pas and other blunders. Clearly Sex & The City is an influence, a kind of “What if… Carrie Bradshaw was a spendthrift red head with debt issues?”

Not even Isla Fisher, who’s infinitely charming and adorable in equal measure, can salvage even a glimmer of hope for this movie. It’s one of those films where you sit there and feel embarrassed for everyone on screen because it’s so silly and derivative that they might as well hand out copies of the script so that you can follow along in the audience. Not that those savvy movie watchers would need it. We’ve been there and seen it all before but still wish we hadn’t. Even without all that murky economy stuff, even if it were the Roaring 20s or the Tech Boom all over again, this movie would still stick because life as we know it bears no resemblance to anything associated with this film, period. But in this time of economic uncertainty, the smart investment is to get tickets for another film.