Chick flick heaven
THE more you try and trudge against New Year’s Eve ’ s constant flow of sticky- sweet sludge, the more overpowering it becomes.
Like that 2010 fluffy- bunny feel- gooder Valentine’s Day, there are many, many stars going blah- blah- blah about everything lifey and lovey- dovey.
Such matters are addressed with all the sincerity of a spam email from a Russian dating agency.
But who really cares when you can also discover what it’s like to be trapped in a lift with Ashton Kutcher for the night?
( Spoiler ahead, ladies: you will become his eternal love slave well before a repairman can come to the rescue.)
Katherine Heigl ( as a posh caterer) hates Jon Bon Jovi ( global rock sensation, both pictured) because he backed out of a former relationship.
Robert De Niro ( grizzled old guy) has a terminal disease so terminally terminal he might cark it at 11.59pm.
Halle Berry ( his nurse) will do all she can to ensure he lives at least two minutes longer.
Hilary Swank ( city official) is in charge of the Times Square countdown.
Sarah Jessica Parker ( over- protective glamour mum) has lost her daughter at the same locale.
Jessica Biel ( 9 months pregnant) is in a race for a cash prize to push out the first baby of 2012.
Put simply, New Year’s Eve just is what it is: a massive slab of a chick flick the size of Uluru. You can happily do the climb. Or do your time in absolute agony.
The choice is all yours.