Note to anyone whose friends instruct a stripper to call her “Pig Face,” or abandon her when she’s clearly intoxicated in the company of one man encouraging the other to drug and take advantage of her, or freak out when she’s passed out with blue lips not because they’re concerned for her health but because she’s messing with their schedule:
Find new friends.
The ever-so-charming so-called protagonists of “Bachelorette” are also unthinkably rude and often verbally abusive to anyone and everyone in the service industry. In one of the film’s only genuinely funny moments, a stripper exacts her very creative revenge. Why wasn’t the movie about the stripper?
Oh, right. Because as a single woman who’s been in weddings, I am supposed to identify with Kirsten Dunst’s type-A maid of honor who’s been tasked with planning a wedding for a truly sweet high school acquaintance (Rebel Wilson). Except when my friends get married, I am happy for them. I don’t belittle their weight, snort cocaine at the rehearsal dinner and backstab my two other high school friends by yelling in a club about one’s abortion and ignoring another’s glaringly obvious substance abuse. In short, I do not identify with Dunst’s character because I am not a terrible human being.
“Bachelorette” desperately wants to break into the clique of “The Hangover” and “Bridesmaids,” two other wedding-centric gross-out comedies that worked because they weren’t nasty. Even in the broadest of circumstances — like stealing a tiger or losing their collective lunch in a bridal salon — the characters were empathetic. They were trying, they grew and we rooted for them to do both. “Bachelorette” may have worked if it had focused on Wilson’s giggly and oblivious bride-to-be or Lizzy Caplan and Adam Scott, who give real chemistry and genuine heart to a former high school couple with a dark past. Perhaps the two could just make another season of “Party Down”; this mere idea is more entertaining than all 89 minutes of “Bachelorette.”