Review: 'Shopaholic' Half In The Bag

'Confessions of a Shopaholic' (PG)(out of four)

If "Confessions of a Shopaholic" weren't so darn wacky, it would almost certainly be a tragedy. While some will roll their eyes in exasperation near the end of it all, I have to say: I appreciated the fact that the whole thing made me giggle. The only other option, given the topic, is to sob.

We are now officially reaching the point where movies are arriving in theaters that launched into production during, or after, the onset of the current fiscal crisis. There are lines in "Shopaholic" that make this point clear, suggesting that this movie has clearly been made in response to the shifting sands of a culture in flux. "If the American government can be billions of dollars in debt and still function, then so can you," said John Goodman, playing the father to a girl awash in credit card debt.

He speaks, and we realize that this movie -- which could have so easily become a consumerist thrill ride, overwrought with brand names and dressing room sequences -- is in reality a story about the dying of that shop-'til-you-drop mindset.

Instead of a movie about a woman flying out of control, here's a film about a woman pulling back on the reins. If young, foolish Rebecca (Isla Fisher) can make a mess of things and emerge unscathed, so too can we all.

The opening sequence of "Shopaholic" is an orgiastic celebration, a tribute to the thrill of shopping. As the camera floats and spins in the middle of these specialty stores, a wide-eyed Rebecca sighs in satisfaction, and relief. With each swipe of the credit card, she says, she is able to become her better self -- nearing perfection with every new pair of shoes, each vintage belt, every flowing scarf.

She stumbles quite accidentally into a job writing for a business magazine, where her stories about clothing are mistaken for metaphorical critiques of personal finance. She becomes the hit of her magazine, a hit at all the industry parties, and falls quickly in love with her supportive editor Luke (Hugh Dancy).

Meanwhile, a bill collector keeps harassing Rebecca, calling not only her cell phone but also her roommate and her office, and we see snippets of Goodman and Joan Cusack on the sidelines, playing Rebecca's parents. They live a simple, unglamorous life, and visits with them make Rebecca uncomfortable. She wants sparkle.

The plot is wobbly, but intentionally so. This is not a movie about a real person, but a coming-out celebration for Isla Fisher - our newest movie star. The plot accordingly allows her to express just about every shade of emotion.

I, for one, found this an appealing first impression. Relegated to show-stealing supporting roles in movies like "Wedding Crashers" and "Definitely, Maybe," this is the movie that finally tests whether Fisher can carry the show. And she does, evoking the beauty, the physical comedy and the vulnerability of Reese Witherspoon or Amy Adams. Fisher believably struts her stuff, just as she believably stumbles, which means we're not only able to hope for her success, but able to cringe when she flubs. She's a fallible heroine, and a better one because of it.

So, yes, "Shopaholic" goes formulaic in its home stretch. Rebecca embarrasses herself in public, and owns up to her failings in a shopper's support group. She goes on misguided spending sprees and lines up for sample sales even as her credit cards reach her maximums. She disappoints her parents and her friends, but then makes it up to them. If played by anyone else, Rebecca could have seemed excessively pathetic, spoiled, foolish or masochistic.

But Fisher plays her as an earnest girl with oversized dreams, who kept her eyes on the mountaintop, rather than on her bank account. As a theme, it's uncomfortably familiar. "Confessions of a Shopaholic" is hitting theaters just as a wide swath Americans are relying on their credit cards not to pay for Gucci handbags, but to pay the utility bills. People have lost jobs, they are cutting back on the basics and it's starting to seem as if couture culture has reached an end.

Even the rich are getting wiped out.

There may still be shopaholics in this country, but they are no longer the eccentric freewheelers we gawk at in amusement. They are the ones out of touch with the fear that is sweeping the land. And so I appreciated the fact that, at the end of all this, Rebecca's many problems seemed to evaporate into thin air. Her swooning and stumbling eventually guided her onto the right path.

If ever a movie needed to veer away from serious commentary and onto the fast track toward escapism, this is it. We can watch Rebecca try on Prada, then go broke, then come back from the brink. May we all enjoy such simple salvations.