atching the Kill Bill films, spellbound by Uma Thurman’s long, svelte figure gliding with insatiable rage through a ballet of human carnage might have convinced someone in a studio seat that the ethereal blond was perfect for an obsessed superhero. Well, wouldn’t you think so? You’d be wrong. The actress brings ass-kicking to the screen again in all her shimmering and very tall glory, but as a needy and neurotic vigilante, her performance is noticeably soulless this time. Thurman, like the rest of her co-workers in My Super Ex-Girlfriend, from Luke Wilson to director Ivan Reitman, goes for the laughs with perfectly good-natured earnestness, but there’s not enough from anyone in this breezy comedy to transcend a string of sight gags—so much that’s mildly funny, so little that’s remotely memorable.

Depending on your viewpoint, of course, the plot is either very high concept or very low concept. In a city protected by the mysterious and fashion-forward G-Girl and her limitless store of superpowers, a shy and heartbroken man named Matt Saunders (Wilson) convinces a beautiful girl named Jenny Johnson (Thurman) to go out with him. From their first date, Jenny shows all the hallmarks of a burgeoning psychotic, but the sex is (painfully) good, so Matt goes with it. The twist here is that Jenny is the not-so-mild-mannered alias of G-Girl, and when Matt breaks her heart, she’s determined to use her powers against him.

Even if you’re being either kind or very optimistic, and you’re assuming that this is pretty much the greatest idea for a movie since Cary Grant tried to save Ingrid Bergman from being poisoned, the concept still doesn’t quite make it to execution. The purported joke of the movie is how G-Girl uses her superpowers for personal vengeance on a hapless everyman, yet problematic is the fact that Matt and Jenny don’t break up for half the film.


That’s not so much a case of false advertising and misleading titles as it is a misstep of judgment on behalf of the filmmakers. Not only does the first half feel plodding for the lack of suspense (if you had any doubt about the relationship, Matt pines for his co-worker Hannah from her first dainty step on screen), but all that carries the movie here is Thurman’s show of neurotic theatrics (mainly opening her eyes really wide and closing her mouth really tight).

There’s nothing intrinsically all that funny about needy girlfriends. There’s nothing inspired enough about Thurman’s performance to lend Jenny any pathos. In short, there’s nothing about this scenario to differentiate it from one you might see at a corner table if you skip the film and head to a nice restaurant. Given, that might cost more, but it comes with food. As for the superpowers, when they finally do start to manifest in acts of violence, they come off more blunt than brilliant. She launches his car into orbit and throws a shark through his window, but these are instances of petty property damage. G-Girl steers far away from anything as substantive as the scheming she could do in a devious, She-Devil kind of vein.

This is possibly so that the filmmakers can wrap up an ending in which the protagonist comes out of it all unscathed. It’s a worthy task, considering Wilson’s Matt is as relatable a character as the film can boast. He’s a little too stammering, a bit too awkward and eager to sell his own neuroses, but he’ll do. G-Girl’s nemesis, Professor Bedlam (Eddie Izzard), is also sympathetic, though often by virtue of how wonderfully underplayed his scenes are. The two help a smoothly written screenplay coast along, often making for some brief bouts of humor. The film takes its laughs when they come, and leisurely keeps right on going. This isn’t a case of hilarity stretched thin; it’s monotony made comical.

My Super Ex-Girlfriend is playing in theatres across the country.