As per my Thanksgiving traditions, the family and I checked out a movie last night. Shopgirl, the romantic comedy based on Steve Martin's novella, was the lucky winner to achieve familial consensus, so off we went. But let me start here: whatever other virtues Steve Martin may possess, he is the world's worst narrative writer. The dialogue is real and witty, the characters fairly believable, but the narrative voice overs bury you in rapid-fire cliches so laughable that every shoulder in the place was shaking. One day, when the screenplay is released onto the internet, I'll quote them for you, and you'll understand. They're the love children of a humorless Jack Handy and a Hallmark card.
