“How can I explain the feeling of rage that had me white-knuckling my armrest by the end of He’s Just Not That Into You?,” asks N.Y. Observer‘s Sara Vilkomerson. “Unlike the best of romantic comedies — the ones that send you swooning home with thoughts of first kisses and your own private montage of slo-mo paint fights in your first shared apartment, chasing lobsters or dragging a Christmas tree down a West Village cobblestoned street — this movie honestly made me never want to date again. It kind of made me not want to be a woman! Actually, it made me not want to be a member of the human race.”