CONFESSIONS OF A SHOPAHOLIC

Since I'm not their target demographic, I guess it shouldn't bother me that so many perky, theoretically harmless chick flicks these days are so breathtakingly shrill and stupid. But why doesn't it bother their target demographic? January gave us the offensively unfunny Bride Wars, and now, hot on that film's stiletto heels, comes Confessions of a Shopaholic, which trashes its promising setup and excellent performers in a candy-colored morass of clichés, contrivances, and incessant brainlessness. The film is like a rom-com take on Speed Racer - it even has John Goodman as a loveably ineffectual dad - and it doesn't feature one moment of recognizable human behavior. And audience members still applauded at the end.

HE'S JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU

With its nine central roles, dovetailing narratives, and 129-minute running length, He's Just Not That Into You is like a chick flick on steroids. Based on a jokey "self-help" book by Greg Behrendt and Liz Tuccillo, director Ken Kwapis' comedy concerns the romantic tribulations of a bunch of young (or young-ish) hotties in present-day Baltimore, and it's all pretty easy to pick apart; the characters are too archetypal, the plotting is too convenient, and none of the movie's frequent dating advice is as insightful as it clearly wants to be. Even that "present-day" aspect is problematic, as the film, completed in 2007, finds a character hooking up through MySpace, for Pete's sake.

THE WRESTLER

Sure, lots of people love Mickey Rourke now. But if you're among those of us who were in thrall to the recent Oscar nominee's talent and charisma during the '80s glory days of Body Heat and Diner, and who followed him happily through the lurid thrills of Angel Heart and Barfly, and who despaired during his career debacles in the '90s, and who rejoiced whenever he managed to pop up again in the rare good movie, his greatness in director Darren Aronofsy's The Wrestler is likely to produce feelings of enormous gratitude - coupled, that is, with an almost inexpressible sadness, which comes from realizing what Rourke, and his fans, have lost over the past three decades.

SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE

Admitting that you have serious reservations about Slumdog Millionaire is a bit like admitting you have reservations about ice cream and rainbows and Malia and Sasha Obama - who would dare?