Nothing about The House Bunny blew me away. I spent a great deal of time looking at the movie instead of watching it. I caught myself wondering if it was a set or if they were real houses, what it would be like to visit the Playboy Mansion, if Hugh Hefner is really as nice as he seems, if I should wait to go to the bathroom, if I was out of popcorn, if I should write a piece on liking geeks; anything but the movie. It wasn't because I was not myself that day or I was distracted, I was bored.

Oliver, Shelly's love interest is a completely useless, unnecessary character. If he had been cut from the movie or been given an actual purpose, I might have enjoyed The House Bunny more, but director Fred Wolf and writers Karen McCullah Lutz and Kirsten Smith didn't make the right decision.

I expect a comedy of this style to be full of over the top characters acting larger than life but Carrie Mae is so ridiculous; she wouldn't survive anywhere but in an Idaho trailer park. She runs like a charging bull, hits on boys by talking about taking a dump and talks like a five year old girl trying to speak like a man. Dana Goodman can't tone it back and director Fred Wolf doesn't do a good enough job suffocating the exaggerated tendencies of Goodman. Seventy-five percent of The House Bunny's plot is how to look and act like a Playboy bunny. No one can deny there is value in looking good but I don't know if I value it enough to make an entire movie about looking like a Playboy bunny. I certainly don't think a movie needs to be made about acting like a Playboy bunny.

There is probably as much plot in pornography as there is in The House Bunny. Rent porn, you'll get more bang for your buck.