Like any movie where a woman swears she won't fall in love, How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days is about femininity, intelligence, and the practicality of staying single falling in love. Kate Hudson plays Andie Anderson, a columnist for Composure magazine, which doesn't sound humorless at all. Andie wants to be a political writer, but her dark-haired, unfeeling (synonyms) editor, Ms. Bebe Neuwirth, hates that crap.
For her biggest assignment yet, Andie decides to date a stranger for ten days and torture him with "mistakes women make in relationships" in order to prove... what? That women can sever relationships by acting crazy? I think yes. Betty Friedan loves this pitch and will forward it to Elizabeth Cady Stanton.
Ben (Matthew McConaughey), the stranger Andie picks, makes a similar bet with co-workers to cajole a woman into falling in love with him. He thinks he can do it in ten days, which astonishes oddsmakers. I'll be, there's Andie standing in ideal lighting on the other side of the bar.
One of Ben's coworkers is important 2003 personality Michael Michele, who you remember from NYPD Blue and The Practice even though she was on Homicide: Life on the Street and ER. Good guesses, though. That's Robert Klein too, disintegrating.
Ben's best friends (Adam Goldberg and Thomas Lennon) are frown-heavy and disposable. Let's never bring them up again.
You get the conceit: The two begin dating, and to keep their respective bets going, Andie keeps irritating Ben and Ben keeps holding on. Thing is, Andie's irritations are supposed to represent Composure's readership, who are apparently prone to fits, conniptions, and outrageous demands, because Andie is insufferable. In one scene, she names Ben's penis "Princess Sophia" (not J/K). She lets her dog pee on Ben's pool table and his poker table. She jokes: "Do you think he thinks the green felt is grass?" I don't get the point of this exercise. If these silly gender wars are progressive, then I Love Lucy remains the most up-to-date exploration of sex we've yet seen. Vivian Vance is a vi-visionary. Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle is downright futuristic. But what am I saying! This movie isn't about smart thangs. It's about blonde people who smile big and think small. Awesome and great.
Kate Hudson sells us on plenty of dumb dialogue in this movie, exhibiting the chutzpah she'd need to float future duds like Raising Helen, You, Me, and Dupree, and Fools Gold. Man, Raising Helen. That is a Bad Movie We Dropkick At Terrorists. Meanwhile, McConaughey exhibits classic McConaugheyianism; he's a man's man who is too hammy and vain to be a real man's man. I get that he's hot, but who keeps casting him as a feasible dude icon? He's Ty Pennington with motorcycle hair.
The movie's glorious badness crescendos into glory during the couple's final confrontation, after they've both realized the other has cashed in on a secret bet. Carly Simon's best-known jam plays at the banquet hall, and these two troubadours howl the words at each other like they know what vanity means. Whose lounge act is better? Kate, with her slurry bleats? Or Matthew, with his snappy rhymes? Or us, with our singing along and eating this up with a shovel?
If you're 13 and female, you probably think this schlock is about you. But if you're anyone else, this movie is just a karaoke bar stocked with unlimited booze. Don't you love feeling a little overserved? Don't you? Don't youuuu?