As you'll recall, He's Just Not That Into You — aggressively marketed toward women and released right around the advertising-driven fauxliday known as Valentine's Day — made upwards of $94 million. So the executives at New Line decided to milk the conceit — chicks love love, after all — and greenlight another film devised to separate women from their money by slapping some big-name celebs (Julia Roberts, Anne Hathaway, Jennifer Garner, Jessica Alba, Jessica Biel, Bradley Cooper and Shirley MacLaine) on a story that supposedly tugs at the heart.

On March 11, before I'd read the script for Valentine's Day, I wrote:

I can already guess that one woman, who you think will stay single, will suddenly find a date; one woman, who you think will have a date, will suddenly be single; and one couple will remain together despite going through a dilemma that should tear them apart.

I was right!

Truthfully, VD is not terrible. But: It's not sweepingly epic enough to be truly romantic, and there aren't tons of jokes, so, much like He's Just Not That Into You, it's technically not a romcom. They are similar in that the movie consists of supershort scenes from each of the ensemble cast's day; a device successful in Love, Actually but more shallow and less charming here. The script is written by Katherine Fugate, whose TV credits include Army Wives, and Xena: Warrior Princess.

The entire movie takes place in one day, and follows different people — a teenage girl intent on losing her virginity; a 30something guy who's just proposed; 20-something coworkers who've just hooked up; a still-blissfully-in-love couple in their 70s, among others — and shows what happens to them on the magical day known as Valentine's Day.

Explains one character — the guy who's just gotten engaged: "Today I can be the kind of cheeseball who tells random people at the ATM about it because it's Valentine's Day and people are all about love today." (This statement is uttered while driving in a van, and immediately after, a "road rager" yells, "Will you use your freakin turn signal you freaking pansy?" Hence: "Comedy.")

Other problems: There's a kid whose character seems so similar to the little boy in Love, Actually, that it was distracting. The guy who's just gotten engaged works at a flower shop, where all of the employees underneath him seem to be extremely stereotypical Latino clichés. One character, a reporter, goes around interviewing people about Valentine's Day, and encounters an 18-year-old girl identified in the script only as a "petite round CHOLA." She, naturally, has liquid liner and utters these words:

CHOLA:
I was hot like jalapena, sexing him
up whenever he wanted. I would
have done anything for that vato,
but still he whored around.

When I read these words, I cringed. Are there Mexican-American girls in L.A. who talk like this? Maybe. But does Hollywood have to perpetuate this cliché on screen?

It was also pretty depressing to read the successful, single woman in the script say:

I haven't had a date on Valentine's
day in almost 10 years. I mean -
it's mostly by choice. I put all
my energy into this job, into
taking care of my clients - and I
know I don't put myself out there
at all - but still - 10 years.
Isn't that pathetic?

The thing that I hate most about
this day - honestly - is that I'm
embarrassed. I'm embarrassed that
it makes me feel as bad about being
alone as it does.

I mean, the character has a point, and these feelings are valid — but isn't naming your script Valentine's Day and releasing it in time for Valentine's Day — and making it a "romcom" in which everybody has happy endings just compounding the issue? What if Valentine's Day were about a band of single women who tried to take down the commercial holiday through renegade street art and guerilla acts of crafty drugstore terrorism? Hmm?

To its credit, VD has (gasp!) a black character in it. Not just a black person, a BLACK MAN. And unlike HJNTIY, there's a nice range of ages, proving that life after 30 exists. In addition, whichever comic moments seem a little flat on the page may be energized with some great direction and acting.

That said, the script was incredibly predictable — considering I called most of the plot "twists" before I'd even read it. True, this is a draft. Things change. But even more frustrating is the notion that because I'm a woman, this is what I want for Valentine's Day.

Earlier: Valentine's Day: What He's Just Not That Into You Hath Wrought

The executives at New Line Cinema can't wait to take more hard-earned cash from women who don't care about storyline and just want to see something about dating and love — again!

That's why there is a project in the works called Valentine's Day. It will hit theaters right before — wait for it — Valentine's Day, 2010. The plot? The plot is iffy. Something about "would-be romantics working their way through a tangle of circumstances in L.A." But that doesn't matter, because Julia Roberts, Anne Hathaway, Jennifer Garner, Jessica Alba, Jessica Biel and Shirley MacLaine will be in it. And Bradley Cooper. New Line will come up with a way to work a story around these people, since all that matters is that there's money to be made. Apparently, He's Just Not That Into You proved that women want to go see "romantic" movies — with other women or a date — right around Valentine's Day.

I have nothing against romance, comedies, or romcoms. I love stuff like When Harry Met Sally, Flirting, and Amelie — thoughtful films with strong writing and characters who are forces of nature. But He's Just Not That Into You — a movie based on a self-help book based on a catchphrase from a TV show — lacked substance and soul; the characters might have well have been cardboard cut-outs with labels like "The Optimist" or "The Seductress" taped to them. And for every bad review, there was a person who said, "I'm gonna see it anyway." Now the studio has 94 million reasons to pull that shit again.

As I wrote earlier this year, when you go see a movie like He's Just Not That Into You, you're casting a vote, telling Hollywood you want more flicks in the same vein. And this is what HJNTIY's box office bonanza hath wrought: Valentine's Day. As a former screenwriting major, it is painful to read that this project is being dictated by a calendar date — along with a cast and director (Garry Marshall) — and not by an actual story someone was inspired to write.

Who knows? Maybe there will be some surprises! Maybe they'll change the title to Single Awareness Day. Maybe some great writer (writers, plural, probably) will be hired by the studio to come up with a perfectly charming Valentine's Day tale. (I can already guess that one woman, who you think will stay single, will suddenly find a date; one woman, who you think will have a date, will suddenly be single; and one couple will remain together despite going through a dilemma that should tear them apart.) But for now, I'm already announcing that I'm just not that into it.

Hollywood Has Feb. 14 Circled in Red [NY Times]

Earlier: Liveblogging He's Just Not That Into You
Cliché-Laden Chick Flick Tries To Convince You It's Not Full Of Clichés
He's Just Not That Into You: Gay Minstrel Show?
More Reasons Not To Get Into He's Just Not That Into You
He's Just Not That Into You - First Review
There's No Way You'll Be Into He's Just Not That Into You

Adding new details to an earlier Post item, \Justin Rocket Silverman blogs that he was outside a party for Charlotte Ronson at the Eldridge when he saw Lohan girlfriend Samantha Ronson storm out, "a scowl on her face." Lindsay soon followed, chasing after Ronson. Silverman soon followed, notebook in hand, following the fighting couple. By just "a few steps."

At one point Samantha stopped in the middle of Houston Street and said something in a whisper.

"What are you talking about?" shrieked Lindsay in response, "I've been with you all night!"

The couple disappeared into the Bowery Hotel, and Silverman did some reflecting.

As I strolled away, I was struck by two things. First- how painful it must be to have a lover [Ronson] who is so much older, and probably more emotionally mature, toy with your heart and mind.

Second- how identical Lindsay Lohan's screams sounded to the drunken female cries I hear every night outside my East Village window.

As we read Silverman's Post post, we were struck by two things. First, how painful (yet denial-piercing) it must be to have an intrepid reporter document one's inaugural Valentine's Day blow-out fight.

Second, why was a pin-up like Silverman working on the gossip beat on Valentine's? Still single, apparently. Sigh. We did our best, Rocketman.

She ordered a salad and didn't like something that was in it because she kept flinging something out of it into a small plate again and again. The whole time she read a book, and no one approached her.

She made bold, grand gestures as she ate and read to the tables around her, but no one paid her any attention at all. My friends and I were seated at the opposite side of the restaurant, however, and we took several cell phone pics of her when she wasn't looking :)

Final verdict - she was extremely nice to her waitress, and we gays were way too chicken to approach her. She was also, strangely, much prettier in the restaurant than she was on stage!

Because this is the modern age, the tipster also took the above photo. Happy Valemtime's Day.

OK, please ignore the cheesy OC video mash-up. It's the only video of the song's album version that I could find, and you need to hear it with all the orchestration. So, yeah. Enjoy.

What's your favorite mournful jam?

(I'm sure Spiegelman did this post back in the day at one point, but ah well.)

L'Auberge Espagnole
About a young Frenchman's study abroad experience in Spain. This isn't really a romance per se—I mean, there's kissing and sex and stuff, but it's not the main focus. But you will swoon at the locations and the sexy accents and feel 20 years old and adventurous again. A real delight.

Maurice
A Merchant Ivory weepy about British school chums who are secret homos. It's stuffy and terribly British, but with an undercurrent of raw, wild abandon. If you see only one movie this year about Hugh Grant being a floppy, charming prick, make it this one.

Swimming Pool
A curious, strange psychosexual thriller starring the queen of curious, strange psychosexual thrillers, Charlotte Rampling. She's half the sexy draw here, the other half being the little old gardener man. Kidding. It's Ludivine Sagnier as the bratty, coitus-crazed daughter of Rampling's editor. A creeper.

The Talented Mr. Ripley
You've probably all seen this, but if one of you hasn't, please rent it. In my mind it's Anthony Minghella's best film. And if you don't find Jude Law, Matt Damon, Cate Blanchett, Gwyneth Paltrow, or Jack Davenport (or, I guess, James Rebhorn) sexy, then the Italian locales alone should get your delicates in a bundle. Sure there's lots of scary murder and stuff but... oh well. If you've seen this already, Minghella's over-criticized-of-late The English Patient is also a swooner.

A Very Long Engagement
France. World War I. The adorable Audrey Tautou. Her wonderful Amelie director, Jean-Pierre Jeunet. It's all delightful, funny, and sad. But best of all is Gaspard Ulliel. Marvel and wonder "can that actually be a real person?"

So those are my choices. Not really any American movies, I guess. You could, I dunno, rent Bull Durham or something if you want a local pick.

Happy day.

Her name, as if you can't read for yourself, is Phyllis J McGuire, and let there be no mistaking it: She is romance. A visit to phyllisjmcguire.com reveals that the lady with the sparkly jewels, gravity-defying bouffant, and custom-made straight-jacket of pink cashmere is one-third of popular wartime singing group The McGuire Sisters. What's more, Phyllis is the recipient of the "the largest flower delivery in history"—12,000 roses—earning her the well-deserved title of The International Ambassadress of Valentine's Day, which we just made up. (It just so happens, Heart-Shaped Candy Day is also PJM's birthday.)

We suppose this is as good an opportunity as any to mention that we love you. Each and every one of you. There we go again. Phyllis made us do it.

• phyllisjmcguire.com/

I can dispense some advice. For some reason people seem to find my corrective shoe and wandering glass eye unappealing, so I don't have a proper romantic date for Saturday evening. Here are some things I'm thinking about doing instead.

Go To The Movies
Full of lovebirds, yes, but it could still be fun. You could go see He's Just Not That Into You or whatever hipsters find romantic and snicker or groan loudly at every part that's supposed to be cute or funny or sweet. Then shush people if they start kissing or murmurming sweet nothings in each other's ears. And eat loudly. (At the Kip's Bay theater on 2nd Avenue, you can get a bucket of mini corndogs. Just sayin'.) That will firmly announce your status as single and not ready to mingle. Or you could go see the mostly unromantic I've Loved You So Long with Kristen Scott Thomas. It's about a plain Frenchwoman who kills her kid. Yep.

Walk the Streets
In the most cliched way, you can have a love affair with New York City. Walk up 2nd Avenue and marvel at all the places there are to drink alone. Wander through the West Village and appreciate all the places you can buy toys for the sex you aren't having. You could head up to the Upper West Side or come over my way to Park Slope and stare strangely at all the babies, knowing in a sad corner of your soul that the only way you're ever going to get one for yourself is through baby thievery so you should probably get on that. Maybe you could cross the park (or the river) and stroll the Upper East Side, mistily eying the old Jewish couples that have been together for so very long and oh doesn't love endure and dying alone isn't that scary, as long as your cat Bloomers is buried with you, like you're an Egyptian king. Or you could take the ferry over to Staten Island, see all the glum families toiling in stretched-means, semi-suburban obscurity and feel just a little bit smug that you're free. You could go to Paris tomorrow if you wanted! Who's gonna stop you? No I know, but other than crippling debt?

Take Yourself Out to Dinner
Yeah those prix fixes are expensive, but it's Valentine's Day. You know you're going to get lucky with yourself later on, so you might as well buy a girl (or guy) dinner first. Sit at the bar, order lots of wine, and splurge. It will be horribly embarrassing and the waitstaff will look at you strangely and whisper about you in a way that they think you can't hear but maybe don't really care if you can. But it won't matter because you'll be shitfaced and stuffing your craw with delicious meats and cheeses and cackling to yourself like a lunatic. After some time has passed, press your greasy wine-stained face close to the cute bartender, flutter your eyelashes, and say seductively "Next I'll have the chocolate exploding cake." Then fart and fall off your stool and sleep, sweet viking. Sleep.

Friend n' Fried
This is actually what I'm doing. Go to a friend's house (or have them come over) and order the food that is probably responsible for you not having a date in the first place. If you live in the area, I suggest ordering from Odessa on Avenue A. Nothing says 'abject misery' quite like a mostly-eaten pile of grilled cheese and waffle fry from that particular diner. While eating these fried delights, you should probably be drinking (of course), smoking (if you're still into it), and watching something like the unheralded masterpiece Sahara or Alien vs. Predator: Requiem. This sounds a bit trite, I know—Fat Kids Fried Drunk Camp for Lonely Fatties!—but the real joy of it is that 1) you're not spending much money, and 2) when you talk to your coupled friends about their intricate, important V-Day celebrations that kind of went awry because just so much was hinged on it, you can just shrug your shoulders and say "Huh. Hey, did you know that there's a Civil War ship full of gold buried somewhere in the Sahara Desert?" They'll totally be jealous.

So, that's that. Shine on, dateless wonders. And if you do have a date, you're a jerk and I hate you and oh god how do you do it I'm so jealous and lonely and I think my heart is atrophying.

Enjoy it.

• ABC Valentines [abc.go.com]

Longer video at Dealbreaker.

So, everyone heard our columnist, The Assimilated Negro, giving his version of amorous events on his blind date at White Castle on Valentine's Day. But what did his date think? Gawker videographer Richard Blakeley did the dirty work.

Earlier: Ghetto Pass: Valentine's Day at White Castle

First off, can I just say, FUCK GAWKER. These motherfuckers pimp a negro with a win-a-date contest, then get all George Bush-during-Katrina and totally neglect my ass. Can you believe they WOULDN'T SEND A PHOTOGRAPHER? Plus, let's be racist honest here, all that really mattered was getting visual proof of my date's "DAMN! You got a BLACK ass!" claim. [Ed. Note: In the next 24 hours, there'll be video. Hold yer horses!] Despite Mama Gawker leaving her negro child out in the cold, as it turns out, a little privacy may have been for the best. No photographer meant this would be more like a real date. And who can act photo-pretentious when they're sucking down slyders at White Castle? So this week's Ghetto Pass profiles a real uptown story of possible love (?) and definite slyders at White Castle. Let's dig in.

Planning A Trip

We selected the winner of the contest on Monday, and Rachel made the first move later that night by sending me a note via MySpace. Awww, how cute and earnest. Now from my perspective this was good and bad. Good: obviously I get to take a peek at a picture or two, and get an idea of whether I'll need to bring mace or Axe Bodyspray (ooooh). Bad: who the hell contacts people through MySpace? Haven't you heard, Rachel? MySpace is dead. Not a good sign there. But her profile pic was — wait for it — cute, as you can see at right, so I didn't immediately IM Gawker HQ about a do-over. Not that they would have listened anyways, you'll notice they didn't even send a photographer. In the subsequent exchange of notes I come to find out Rachel doesn't even eat burgers. Which is initially a bit of a shock, but then very encouraging since I figure you either entered the contest for TAN or the White Castle. Holla!

Are We There Yet?

So can I just say how apropos it is that the first snowstorm of the year comes on Valentine's Day? Such a tragically appropriate metaphor for the bone-chilling Nor'easter that rages in my cold frigid heart. Or heartless soul. Whatever, it all applies. I'm dead inside. What the fuck is love anyways? Fuck Valentine's Day. And with that in mind, sometime in the afternoon I sent an email to Rachel to feel out if she wants to cancel, "hey Rach, pretty snowy out there. Looking forward to our artificial date, on this artificial holiday. Should be great since you don't eat burgers. Cheers, TAN" She was undaunted and told me she was wearing a gown for the occasion and would be showing up promptly. We were officially on.

Slyders Are Served

I only live two blocks away, and Rachel was coming from the Flatiron District, but lo and behold she got there first, and I was late. I'm not into all that "faux-classy showing up on time pizazz" anyways. Here were some other highlights from the dinner:

Ambient Castle Lighting

White Castle advertised "dinner by candlelight," but by "candlelight" they meant "the same fluorescent lights we always use." Sweet, everyone looks sexy under fluorescents, especially people eating greasy hamburgers. DELICIOUS!

The Ol' Ghetto Try

Of course it's not as if you'd nitpick with White Castle about the lighting when you see their obvious effort in other areas. For example, there were paper printouts that said "reserved" on each table, and the font leads me to believe they were impressively printed out by a Commodore 64. The red plastic tablecloths adorning the tables were pretty and shiny. There was also a "waitress," and by "waitress" I mean someone in a White Castle uniform ignoring my requests for water.

Awkward Conversation?

As for conversation, it flowed like Hi-C fruit punch from a soda machine. Rachel peppered me with the usual basic questions like:

Where's the photographer?
Is there really no photographer?
Where's the alcohol?
Is there really no alcohol?
If the photographer comes, might he have alcohol?

Time To Eat

Eventually the "waitress" decided to come by. I ordered twenty hamburgers, ten chicken sandwiches, two milkshakes and then in my deepest alpha-romantic voice said, "... and the lady will have the same." Rachel seemed stunned, but I reminded her, "the meal's on Gawker, so don't be shy." Still, her enthusiasm remained muted. The food came, it was delicious. Rachel's food was good too. The parting "gift bag" contained a coffee mug. That's all. Did anyone know White Castle sells coffee? Apparently it's the best coffee in the world.

General Tips

Unsure of the etiquette, I actually did ask our waitress if I should leave a tip. She just shrugged her shoulders. So I didn't. HA! No, no I'm kidding, I actually told her reading Ghetto Pass every Thursday would help change her life for the better.

Fun Facts

• Did you know Rachel's mom is currently reading this right now and thinking, "I knew I should have told her she could pierce her belly button. This 'Assimilated Negro' phase looks like trouble." (Hi Rachel's Mom! Guess who's coming to dinner?!!?)

Final Word

Dinner at White Castle: $12
Drinks after dinner at White Castle: $90 (holla!)
Having a Valentine's Day Story to remember: priceless $102.

The End!

[Ed. Note: TAN is clearly being a tease here. So we grabbed him on IM for some questions.

Gawker: SO? Don't MAKE ME ASK THE OBVIOUS!

TAN: I'm just a slow negro boy ...

Gawker: Don't gimme that shit. 1. At any point in the evening, did one person's hand touch another's?

TAN: Yes. It was fun...

Gawker: Will you and Rachel ever meet again?

TAN: I suspect so...

Gawker: Have you talked today? Or, have you SEEN each other today?

TAN: No seen. She's on chat with me right now.

So there you have it. Or at least some of it. Maybe the internet makes love happen!]

While the timing of the two pharmacies running out of Plan B is pretty amusing, I've seen the same thing happen before. A year or so back I myself got the last pill pack they had in stock, and I watched them tape up that sign. The reason? The first CVS you mentioned is right next to Planned Parenthood on Bleecker. The Pharmacist told me they always had a large number of Rx's for Plan B put in to be filled at that location.

Thing is, I'm pretty sure that law was passed recently that allowed 18+ year old women to get Plan B over the counter, so either:

a) you're right, lots of NYU students are having a lot of unprotected sex

or

b) Planned Parenthood's location *is* responsible for the spike in orders—and all these scripts have got to be for underage girls.

Earlier: Don't Say A Prayer For The West Village Now