In Just My Luck the world is Lindsay Lohan’s rabbit’s foot. She is blessed with the gift of incredibly good luck. Everything in her life is perfect—she can’t lose with scratch and win tickets, and when the dry cleaner drops off the wrong dress to her apartment, it turns out to be one of Sarah Jessica Parker’s frocks and is exactly the right size and just the perfect thing for her to wear that night on a date.
Into her ideal life stumbles Chris Pine, a busboy / music impresario who is also the unluckiest schlub in NYC. He is so cursed that even when he is fortunate enough to find a discarded five-dollar bill in the trash, it has recently been used as a pooper scooper—the first of many poo jokes in the film.
Their paths cross at a charity masquerade ball. On the dance floor they exchange an anonymous kiss, their identities hidden behind masks. Somehow in their moment of passion they swap more than spit, and in minutes the polarity of their lives is reversed. He is golden and she finds herself being hauled off to jail following a series of unlucky events.
This is a romantic comedy, so of course they meet again, but will they get together?
This is being touted as flame-haired Lindsay Lohan’s move away from the teen films that have made her a star and a shift into Julia Roberts territory. I’m not so sure Just My Luck is the movie that will shed her teen queen image. It isn’t exactly a mature film, it lacks the sophistication of Notting Hill or even My Best Friends Wedding. Instead it’s more like Freaky Friday with a love story. Lohan is a likeable performer, but here she is forced into doing physical shtick that was old when another famous redhead—Lucille Ball—did it. She pulls it off, but the movie feels overly long and to call it predictable is an understatement.