2009 | 96 min. minutes | Rated PG
The new year is already foisting its challenges on us in staggering array, begetting the hopeful expectation that the arts will serve as a refuge from our worries. That's how it's supposed to work, especially in the comfortably simple world of romantic comedy. Temporary escapism, fantasy, hope--these are the things we expect in exchange for our suspension of disbelief, our agreement not to over-analyze, and the (at least partial) relinquishment of cynicism when we sit willingly through a popcorn flick. That's a deal I'm in the mood to make with a movie. So it's maddening and sad that the vast resources of Hollywood seem incapable of delivering something that they could, and should, be easily doing really well right now. But timing's a bitch, and instead they've plopped out another pellet-turd vehicle for Renée Zellweger.
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