If Sly Stallone and Drew Barrymore made a baby, and then dressed it up all metrosexual, and if its grandfather was Fred Flintstone, that baby would grow up to be Gerard Butler. Butler, the new Mel-Gibson-circa-1990, lacks any ability to inflame labia. The man is extremely drooly and spray-tanned, as is his costar in The Bounty Hunter (Jennifer Aniston), and it only encourages the powers that be when we pretend like we're getting all engorged down there. I don't care how much you bleach someone's teeth, if they sound like Daffy Duck when they open their mouth, their sex appeal ain't worth shit.

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Ms. Spray-Taniston, for one, clearly isn't aroused by Sly Flintstone—the two awkwardly touch with chaste fingertips and huff-puff all over the place—and why she keeps agreeing to lead these tired rom-coms is beyond me. But wait a tick. Is that Christine Baranski nasaling around as a fag-hag-fabulous lounge-singer diva? Random casting moment number one. And hold up! Cathy Moriarty as a mouth-breathing racetrack thug? Sweet Jesus, where has she been? Paying off her jowl implants it seems. Still as radiant as ever, though. Random casting moment number two.

Where was I? Oh. Yes. There appears to be a trend afoot in Hollywood. The action-rom-coms of yesteryear have recently been—whoooa!! Carol Kane?! What does she have to do with this movie? Whoever did that to her lips is a criminal! A criminal!!! recommended