I'm not sure why I watch The Wedding Date every time it's on TV. The premise makes no sense. An insecure mess, Debra Messing cashes out her 401K to hire a male whore who just happens to be Mr. Perfect (more like Mr. Syphillis). She's too crazed to attend her double-whorish-sister's wedding alone. Male-prostitute-on-stilts Dermot Mulroney swaggers and flashes dark, sexy looks, making Debra all quivery inside her fantastic wardrobe. She's clumsy, mussed up, awkward, ya know, like EVERY SINGLE ROMANTIC COMEDY HEROINE. Somehow, the key players around them are British, imbuing a little Four Weddings and a Funeral pretention but without the characterization. The goddess Holland Taylor is woefully underused and I can never take Debra seriously when she boinks someone (her garters and hose in A Walk in the Clouds sent me screeching) in the same way Julia Roberts rolling around in bed (Sleeping with the Enemy} renders me uncomfortable. Debra will always be Grace to me, which I'm sure she'd hate. Despite not finding anything realistic in this movie, I'm drawn to it. I know you're thinking I have become a little Mel Gibson in Conspiracy Theory.In other news, I took a nap this afternoon and dreamt that I had an in-depth discussion about Brett Michaels as a celebrity. Not sure why I destroy more brain cells on that topic either.
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