Homo sapiens have, over the past 200,000 years or so, proved a resourceful, resilient bunch. That’s why I’m confident that should I ever find my legs nailed into a cinema seat for a second viewing of Good Luck Chuck, I will somehow contrive to gnaw my own limbs off and crawl towards the exit, dragging my bloody stumps behind me.
Why Jessica Alba signed up for squalid, horrid sex comedy, I’ll never know. Suffice to say, she’s the only girl onscreen who isn’t forced to take her top off (sorry boys) and assume the wheelbarrow position. Not that her vile love interest Dane Cook (Kung Fu Panda, Farce Of The Penguins, other crap) isn’t trying to get her there.
Sadly, or perhaps happily, a spurned goth girl has hexed him during his teen years, and thus he’s doomed to wander the earth alone. There is an upside. Every woman who comes into his carnal acquaintance meets her true love immediately afterwards. As word gets around, he’s soon in great demand for as his repellent best friend the – sigh – breast doctor (Dan Fogler) tells us – chicks just want to get married.
Somewhere towards the end we have the inevitable dash for the airport as Jessica threatens to leave town to live among the penguins of Antarctica. By then you’ll feel as worn down as a battered wife. Still, spousal abuse simulation seems infinitely preferable to the undignified treatment doled out to the unfortunate females onscreen. Bring back the more enlightened philosophies of Carry On Emmanuelle.