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Sunday January 4, 2009 1:36 am

Confessions of a Shopaholic in Theaters February 13: I’m pre-ordering tickets, baby!

Isla Fisher in Confessions of a Shopaholic

I consider myself to be a fairly selective reader—so much so that a few years ago, my former English professor mom called me a “literary snob.” I was insulted for a second before I realized that she was absolutely right. I’ve sneered at The DaVinci Code, sniffed at Twilight, and made endless fun of most of the other crap we call genre fiction. But here’s a guilty little secret: I’m kind of into the Shopaholic series by Sophie Kinsella… Okay, I adore the Shopaholic series by Sophie Kinsella. It’s bubbly, charming, its ridiculous heroine, Becky Bloomwood, the vicarious shopping experience, and the hilarious situations that arise from a simple desire to buy, buy, buy!... those books get me every time. So perhaps you’ll understand my excitement when I found out that the Confessions of a Shopaholic movie, starring Isla Fisher, hits theaters on February 13!

I just watched the trailer, which you can find here, and I have to say that I have mixed feelings. Firstly, as every Shopaholic fan knows, Becky Bloomwood is British. She lives in England, in “trendy Fulham,” as her dorky boss at Successful Saving magazine likes to joke. Secondly—and I know this goes with the territory of every screen-adapted novel—that is not how I pictured Becky; I think I’d know if the character was a stunning redhead. And last, but certainly not least, it seems like they’ve Frankensteined the entire story! I know I’m revealing myself to be a total nerd at this point—I hereby resign my rights to jeer at sci-fi freaks…yeah, okay, not really—but look: There’s no fashion magazine involved in the book. No hugely popular column, just a recurring segment on the British TV show, Morning Coffee . And Luke Brandon has nothing to do with the Finnish fiasco. Am I asking too much of Hollywood to stick to the already-fine story?

... On the upside, the movie still looks really cute.  :cheese:  But rest assured, my husband will catch me chortling out loud, hot pink novel in hand—again—before I stalk ticket counters next month; like the literary snob I am, I want to be able to comment afterward on all the ways the book kicked the movie’s arse.

What do you think of the trailer?



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