Love? truly, no. a lot of like disappointment, and, at times, hatred. I needed such a lot to like Richard Curtis's directorial debut, expected to like it too. Yet, even supposing its manufacturers would have U.S. believe we're curmudgeons if we do not grin and lick the film, it very may be a stale and contrived let-down. a way of fairness compelled ME to envision it for a second time last weekend at a cinema packed with what looks to be its target audience: anglophil Americans. it had been a lot of endurable, however not by abundant.
Don't get ME wrong. Romantic comedies square measure my terribly favorite variety of film. Nothing beats going à deux to envision Annie Hall. Four Weddings and a observance, Notting Hill and Saint Brigid Jones's Diary, whereas not therein league, were – and square measure – vastly pleasant. William Curtis created career-defining roles for the likes of Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts. The glossy, antiseptic fantasy of England he designed was as angelical as that in early Britpop records. His films, for all their fondness for inarticulate self-deprecation, appeared assured and splendidly contemporary. More information :