Bewitched

You know when a film gets too cutesy, flopsy, in love with itself? (Nora Ephron, I'm looking at you.) I hate it when that happens. And that's pretty much the problem with Bewitched. Not only is it too cutesy, flopsy, in love with itself, it's also in love with the fact that it's a wink, wink, inside look at the shallow, shallow (wink, wink) world of Hollywood. I think you have to live in and about Los Angeles to give a crap that all agents are evil, all producers are brain dead, and all stars are self-absorbed. I don't live there, therefore I don't care.

Not even Will Ferrell can save this one, and that's saying a lot.