Neither of them have ever looked into the bizarre, clash-of-cultures wonder that is a “full-blown cultural phenomenon.” The six actors were officially famous, recognizable, and marketable as a unit, but it was time to see if America would buy them individually as well.
She’s only telling him as a formality, but he blurts out a few Chandler-esque lines about the inefficacy of condoms and being pro-choice anyway.
Somehow, his charming reaction to her pregnancy is enough to convince Isabel that she and Alex should wed in Vegas.
We’re then treated to a questionably racist montage of the couple adjusting to conjugal bliss that only gets worse when Alex’s parents show up.
The result, unfortunately, is two leads who act Alex and Isabel first meet in a long bathroom line at a Mexican restaurant outside Las Vegas, where they get into a discussion about fate and destiny versus randomness and religion (a conversation many of us have had with a stranger in a unisex bathroom line, for sure). Meeting adjourned so we can go play golf and brainstorm more ways to keep women from attaining positions of power in Hollywood.
We're given no evidence of why on earth this would lead to them sleeping together, but wind up in bed they do.
Isabel sneaks out without saying goodbye the next morning.
Three months later, she’s back at Alex’s house to say that she’s pregnant, and she’s keeping the baby.
The 1997 romantic comedy starring Matthew Perry and Salma Hayek would no longer be available to stream instantly come August 1.
I’m sure most people wouldn’t give its departure from Netflix a second thought, but for some reason, I think about a lot.
I probably think about it even more than Matthew Perry, Salma Hayek, or anyone involved in the movie would want someone to, considering its sub-par million box office haul and 33% fresh rating on Rotten Tomatoes.
I’m weirdly fascinated by how movies of its ilk come to be, and I know I’m not alone in this interest, because podcasts like How Did This Get Made and The Flop House exist.