So let's just get this straight. Josh Hartnett is getting too much sex, and we're meant to feel sorry for him? Next thing you know, the guy'll win the lottery and score the winner in the Cup Final. Then he'll really have our pity.
That Michael Lehmann's farce just about rises above such a ludicrous dilemma is testament principally to its very amiable cast and a screenplay that is sprinkled with astute observation.
As a comedian, Hartnett is adequate, battling with his friends (who have opened a book on his failure), untimely erections and frustrated female colleagues. Unfortunately, while in better comic hands (say, Lee Evans') this would have been an engaging romp, the result is rather humdrum, livened only by Sossamon - a woman apparently so damn erogenous that simply wafting a flower in the vague direction of her crotch drives her to orgasm. Oh, were it so easy.