Yes, that's what the title should be. This is not a movie about everyone's anger, it is about rich, spoiled, bored, white women and how hard their lives can be when they are drowning in a stew of alcohol and self pity that usually gets brought on by their own paranoid imagination. That being said, let's review, shall we?

Sorry guys, no boobs. Yes, I know it's rated R, because writer/director Mike Binder (creator of the equally lame/canceled "Inside the Mind of a Married Man" series) felt it would be more mature-edgy-whatever by keeping the unnecessary f-words in what feels much more like a PG-13 chick flick.

It's forgivable when a middle-aged white woman writes and directs an overrated piece of crap like "Something's Gotta Give," because she's a middle-aged white woman. For a man to invade this territory and then make it seem normal for a guy to kick down a door in order to talk to a woman who's being difficult, this is damn near worthy of a lethal injection. If Binder (who shows up in the movie, of course) weren't slightly amusing in his acting role, Dr. Tom might have just had to track him down and delivered the shot himself.

This is the kind of guy who buys the Jewel CD and plays it when girls come over in order to get laid. Where were we? Oh yeah, I'm supposed to be reviewing this garbage heap of a movie. Okey-dokey.

First, a disclaimer: THIS REVIEW DOES NOT APPLY TO THE RICH WHITE WOMEN DESCRIBED ABOVE. YOU (THE RICH WHITE WOMEN) WILL LIKELY ENJOY THIS MOVIE. IT IS ALL ABOUT THE NONSENSE YOU EMBRACE AS REAL LIFE. THERE ARE PLENTY OF WEEPY MOMENTS THAT ONLY YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS WILL ACTUALLY LIKELY WEEP AT IN THE THEATER, AND THERE ARE LOTS OF LAUGHS THAT ONLY YOU WILL FIND FUNNY.

THE REST OF US ARE EITHER TOO IGNORANT OR TOO MACHO TO EMBRACE THE PSYCHOTIC GIDDINESS OF A MOMENT WHERE SILENCE TURNS INTO LAUGHTER FOR ALMOST NO REASON ASIDE FROM HOW SILLY LIFE CAN BE WHEN YOU ARE A RICH WHITE WOMAN, YOU ARE THE ONLY ONES SMART ENOUGH TO GET IT. AND BELIEVE ME, THE WHOLE AWKWARD-SILENCE-TURNING-INTO-SOMEONE-LAUGHING-AND-THEN-EVERYONE-LAUGHING-TOO BIT DOES INDEED REPEAT ITSELF AT LEAST TEN TIMES. YOU'LL BE IN HEAVEN.

Joan Allen, a great actress who at least finally gets to have her name put before a name like Kevin Costner, stars as... phuck it, I can't remember, we'll call her Lily. Lily's husband leaves her (without any warning signs or hint of a failing marriage whatsoever), so Lily proceeds to drink lots of Grey Goose vodka (I guess they needed the extra advertisement after our little "Ban the French" thing) and sit around the house feeling sorry for herself in front of her four daughters (played respectively by Alicia Witt, Keri Russell, Erika Christensen, and Evan Rachel Wood).

Sure, it sounds like a scenario that would make for legit depression, but anyone who really listens to the dialogue will uncover half of the big twist early, which is that her husband hasn't left shit and that Lily is simply an older version of all the Desperate Housewives combined. Luckily, Denny (Costner) lives nearby, and luckily he's a washed-up baseball player, the only role Costner has ever been somewhat convincing at. Denny and Lily show each other their pee-pees while the four daughters have little dramas of their own. But don't worry, everyone learns a very white lesson by the end.

The plot? You got me. This thing rambles like the old fogie couple next to you in the movie theater that has to keep explaining the movie to each other because the other one fell asleep for a while. Whatever the hell happened in the editing room, it must have been quick.

In a flick like this, all one can do (if they aren't a rich white woman) is turn to their imagination for entertainment, combining the scene in their head with the one in the movie. While Popeye's gay little friend (they actually named Evan Rachel Wood's character "Popeye," for God knows what reason besides it fitting her spunky personality she as at the age she is in the movie) is crashing through the window after a bungled bungy jump and laughing about how cute and silly it is, one must simply imagine blood squirting out of his neck as he makes a little "eeuh" sound and suddenly realizes that he caught a shard on the way in and dies a violent death after Michael Jackson rides through the broken window on his magical unicorn and jabs him up the ass.

This kind of "it's my movie now, motherfucker" attitude will get one through these grueling two hours of cutesiness that's sprinkled with jokes that might have even been somewhere in the vicinity of funny if only the characters on the screen didn't laugh so hard at them FOR us. Otherwise, guys, make sure to have something really phucked up in line for the next movie you get to pick after your retarded girlfriend guilts you into seeing this shit with her, because you WILL want revenge.

BLACK PEOPLE: You have no self respect if you last through more than ten minutes of this film, nor do you know any other black people if you bought a ticket in the first place.

(five bongs for rich white women, two for everyone else)