Being a non-shopper, I can hardly call myself expert on the parsing of a shopaholic in Confessions of a Shopaholic. But this I can say: Rebecca Bloomwood (Isla Fisher) is an addict of major proportions, unable to let go of the exhilaration that shopping brings, a feeling that the world is better for her purchases.
The film is a cliché from the get go, as corny as could possibly be about 25 year old writer Rebecca with the shopping affliction who eventually meets her dream man through a series of subterfuges that would make Melanie Griffith's Tess in Working Girl proud. What saves the film from my scourge, which did not spare the recent Pink Panther 2, is Isla Fisher, who plays dangerous innocence with sincerity and fresh-facedness that makes even Anne Hathaway's Devil Wears Prada role seem downright Machiavellian.
Confessions has this going for it: Although it is not a Judd Apatow comedy with some layers of sophisticated social comedy, it has moments of laughter and social conscience. Coming as it does amidst the worst recession in decades, in which shopping would be a welcome antidote to the fear of spending that exacerbates the recession, Confessions almost makes a case for credit spending; then again maybe such encouragement is not a good thing for shopaholics.
