Just in time for Valentine's Day, the most swoonerific tales of child manipulation, homicidal maniacs, fighting couples, unhappy Midwesterners, toilet seats and Nia Vardalos.
I guess this movie warrants a whole review. I don't have a whole lot say about it, because it's one of the laziest, most forgettable pieces of pandering garbage I've seen in a while, so I'll just keep this brief. Long story short: anybody could've written that screenplay. I could've written it. You could've written it. And it wouldn't have even taken either of us very long -- maybe a Sunday afternoon -- and we could have done other things while we were writing it, like, fold a pair of jeans, rip off a random part from a time traveling thing we sort of remember from another movie or show, mix a drink, write a line of half-hearted, uninspired "romantic" dialogue, brush the cat's teeth, write another Eric Bana's butt appearance -- oh! I forgot to tell you! You see Eric Bana's butt in this movie more often than you see his face. I am serious. So if you're really into Eric Bana's butt, now you know where you can find it. (More like The Time Traveler's Butt, am I right?)