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By John Black

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There’s a line in this new movie from director Nick Cassavetes (The Notebook) where a high powered attorney named Carly Whitten (Cameron Diaz) say she’s, “Getting too old for this shit.” Her character is referring to her discovery that the guy she thought was Mr. Perfect (Nikolaj Coster-Waldau) is a scumbag serial cheater with a wife and many other mistresses, but the words certainly ring true for anyone sitting through this dreadful excuse for a comedy.

If you are old enough to get in the movie without a parent or guardian – and it’s rated PG-13 – then you’re too old to find any humor in the childish antics of Diaz and her comic cohorts, Leslie Mann as the insultingly clueless wife and Kate Upton as the boobs, which, for the record, is how she is referred to by the other women in the movie. And that includes the juvenile toilet humor the director liberally sprinkles throughout the film in an attempt to milk laughs from his dehydrated cow of a film.

But what is The Other Woman about?

The tough attorney, who is so anti-romance that she gives all her partners nicknames so she doesn’t have to put a name to their face (or other body parts), gets swept off her feet by the dashing Mark King (Coster-Waldau). On the day he’s supposed to meet her dad, the guy tells her a pipe’s burst in his house and he’ll have to take a rain check. Instead of taking him at his word – her first good instinct in their relationship – she comes up with a plan to dress as a ‘hot plumber’ and surprise him. Only it’s his wife (Mann) who opens the door setting off an increasingly silly string of circumstances that have the women who King has wronged banding together to seek revenge.

The plot has so many holes you could strain spaghetti through it, but it should be enough of a framework to hang jokes from…only the director and his cast, working from a script by first-time writer Melissa Stack, can’t think of anything actually funny to do or say. And the less funny the lines are, the more obnoxiously loud and shrill they get said until, buy the end (if you stay that long) it’s actually more painful to listen to than nails on a chalk board. And that, no matter how many Great Danes take a dump on the floor or handsome leading men crap their pants, is the antithesis of comedy.

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