I hate Katherine Heigl.
I know that there exists a certain redundancy in a blogger stating point blank that she hates Katherine Heigl, as it would seem that the Internet contains no one who likes her in the slightest (and it is things like this that reminds me just how small a community the Internet must be. I mean, people see Katherine Heigl movies, buy Katy Perry iTunes and watch The Bachelor and if they were on the Internet, you’d think they’d know better. Digression), but it’s true and I feel the need to say it now at the start.
Look, I’m not prejudice against people with bad taste. Some of my best friends watch Grey’s Anatomy, and that’s something we’ve worked through in our diversity seminars (a.k.a., fights about The Hills and Tucker Max). So her body of work plays little to no role in my hatred for her. I hate her because of one thing: she’s a colossal bitch from Planet Bitchface.
Before anyone starts on me, no, this is not an instance of “oh, she’s a woman who speaks her mind, so of course you think she’s a bitch.” God dammit I hate people that play that card because it’s so rarely the case, especially when a woman is presenting said case, so shut up and make me a sandwich, dame. And that is not a digression. It is in fact the kind of card Heigl herself plays constantly. Her brand of faux-feminism is the number one thing I hate most about her because she makes the rest of us look bad. And I’m not okay with that. Twat.
Heigl does speak her mind with no filter, and that would be all well and super if she wasn’t such an ungrateful asshat when she does it. She publicly derided Knocked Up for being misogynist, which means two things: 1) she didn’t see the movie, or else she’d have noticed that the obvious theme was that the female characters were the only ones with their shit together, and 2) she is a whore who performs in films she doesn’t believe in and cashes the check anyway. And no, I am not calling her a whore because she’s a woman. I’m calling her a whore because that’s the definition of whore.
After talking public shit about a movie that made her tons of money and gained her a ton of starpower, she then turned on the people who saved her from her lifelong title of “chick from that Gérard Depardieu incest movie”: the Grey’s writers. Last year, she released a statement withdrawing herself from Emmy consideration because, in her own super-assy words, she “did not feel that I was given the material this season to warrant an Emmy nomination and in an effort to maintain the integrity of the academy organization, I withdrew my name from contention. In addition, I did not want to potentially take away an opportunity from an actress who was given such materials.”
There’s a word for people who say things like that and completely turncoat on those who made them: ungrateful. (And bitch.)
Those who’ve seen her in interviews know that she says little else besides complaining about her husband or her show or the paparazzi or everything. She’s a wide awake nightmare. And at long last, the Internet is not the only place people know this. This past week, obviously realizing that my article on the same topic was pushed back a week due to a death in the family (* shakes fist at God *), Newsweek printed an article entitled “Why Is Katherine Heigl So Annoying?” that no less than 12 people Tweeted and Facebook-ed to me. This was the best thing ever, except due to a journalistic attempt to remain unbiased, they were somewhat complimentary.
I have no such journalistic integrity. So I’ll just reiterate “I hate Katherine Heigl” and move along from her assface to the actual topic of this article. Her assface new movie, The Ugly Truth. And you will soon understand why I felt the need to go on at length about my hatred for Katie H.
I hate The Ugly Truth far more than I hate Katherine Heigl.
I first saw its trailer before a showing of The Hangover. My boyfriend became the recipient of four very red nail-shaped indentations in his arm as we watched the screen. I wanted to walk out or throw up. I was unsure of which I needed to do first.
The trailer, for those of you who don’t exist because we’ve all seen it, is basically every parody of romantic comedies that has ever been described in every hacky stand-up act, or the plot of every fake movie that characters discuss during sitcoms. It literally does not look like a real movie. It’s what everyone who hates romantic comedies thinks that romantic comedies are like, but no such movie has ever existed, because no romantic comedy has ever actually been that terrible.
The plot is as follows: Heigl is a producer on a television show. She is uppity and prudish and romantically-challenged, because of course she is. Her new correspondent on said show, King Leonidas, is a schlubby chauvinist who has sex with lots of women, because of course he is and of course he does. So obviously she starts taking his horrifically offensive dating advice, and it works, and he falls in love with her, and she falls in love with someone else, and she fakes an orgasm at a restaurant, and he wins her heart, and he is changed and softened, and I drop a clock/radio into my nightly bubble bath.
Seeing the trailer was not the worst thing that ever happened to me. Seeing the trailer before a screening of Public Enemies, however, was. Because unlike when I saw it before The Hangover, I could actually hear over the sound of blood boiling in my ears, and I heard laughter. I heard big, raucous laughter. My bloodlust on that day was strong and indefensible. And I knew that I must fight this real enemy. And that enemy’s name was Katherine Heigl.
So, Heigsy, I must call you out. You are watchable, pretty and up until you started ass-talking on a constant basis, your candor was appreciated. No more. Take your hypocritical fake-ass feminism and your completely contradictory film choices, and get out. You’re no longer wanted. In this current age where the Movie Star is dying, I’d rather watch a back to back showing of Megan Fox movies than watch you trample all over your “new Julia Roberts status.”
Do I wish my words could do what her co-star could not and chest-kick her into the proverbial pit? Of course. But I can’t do this alone. Let us stand together and fight this foe.
July 24. The Ugly Truth release date. The day laughter died. The day my soul died. The day any respect I had for Gerard Butler died. Never forget.
Courtney Enlow is a writer living in Chicago and working as a corporate shill to pay the bills. You can contact her at firstname.lastname@example.org.