Letters to Juliet takes place in what I like to call Magic Italy, a country only seen in Hollywood movies: sun-dappled vineyards stretch from hill to rolling hill and winding cobblestone streets are packed with quaint, friendly locals. "Our country is your playground!" Italians say to any foreigners on holiday. "Please accept this 300-year-old recipe. Ciao bella!" Magic Italy is, in a word, awesome. Letters to Juliet delivers postcard porn for armchair tourists by the gondola-load, and it's pretty hard to resist the fantasy of a Europe untouched by modernity and untainted by tourism. by Dave Bow