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I don't get it. I'm sorry, I just don't. Amanda Peet? Sexy? Funny? Nope. I don't see it.
Granted, I am a straight woman, so, really, whatever it is she's got isn't really pointing in my direction anyway. But my being a straight woman doesn't preclude me from developing crushes on female celebrities I think are sexy or funny -- Eliza Dushku, say, or Catherine Keener, or Colleen Haskell. And then there are female celebrities that don't really do much for me, but whose empirical sexiness or funny-ness is still apparent to me; I would put Téa Leoni and Laura Prepon in that category. But then there are some female stars whose alleged appeal is a complete mystery to me. Liv Tyler? Check. Cameron Diaz? Check. Amanda Peet: What the fuck? I mean, "Check."
Amanda Peet definitely doesn't bug as much as Liv Tyler. In fact, she's perfectly tolerable in the odd dramatic role. One of her first professional jobs was playing a Patty Hearst-esque kidnap victim on Law & Order and she did a fine job portraying a woman suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder and lashing out at her wealthy, distant parents. I would say that represents the limits of her skills; outrage, heartbreaking relief, and bitterness, she did fine. So how did casting directors make the leap, based on this performance, that Amanda Peet possessed untapped comic talents?
I'm guessing these are the same casting directors who believe that, as Janeane Garofalo put it in a stand-up special a few years back, all a beautiful woman has to do to be funny is fall down a lot or act stupid. It was that mistaken belief that propelled Brooke Shields's Suddenly Susan into syndication; it's so prevalent, in fact, that it was the theme of the original opening credits animation of the above-named Leoni's The Naked Truth. Is that why we were subjected to Amanda Peet's "duh" voice in The Whole Nine Yards? Is that why her menacing pout confronts us from the Whipped poster every time we go to the cinema to see Bring It On? And then there's Peet's embattled dramedy Jack & Jill. For those of you who've never seen it, I'll give you the gist: Her name is Jack. His name is Jill. It's a reversal. Get it? You're up to speed. I haven't seen a concept resting so heavily on such a feeble punchline since The Importance of Being Earnest.
And then there's the volume. Amanda Peet has made twenty movies in five years -- six of which are dated "1999" on her résumé. And for every Nine Yards, there are four Isn't She Greats. Lacking the good business sense, or good business advice, to raise her own stock by passing on any one of Whipped, Body Shots, or Two Ninas, Peet's strategy seems to be to bombard the public with her image to the point where the few passable movies blend with all the crappy movies to suggest a tasteless but plentiful goulash of an oeuvre, with the (admittedly) hard-working Peet the only memorable thing (for better or worse) about any of them.
So, based strictly on her grim acceptance of every project that crosses her agent's desk, Peet is now being positioned as the new comic actress for the millennium, much as Kate Hudson was just before the release of 200 Cigarettes. But until very, very recently, Kate Hudson wasn't getting any respect or even notice outside the pages of InStyle, whereas there Peet (and her legs) are among Esquire's "Women We Love," and there Roger Ebert is on his show, lavishing his praise.
Regardless, I still don't get it. And I don't think I should be forced to try every time I open up a damn magazine. Amanda Peet is far more famous than she has any legitimate right to be.
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