I realize that chick flicks are notoriously unrealistic and sugar-coated, but my brain hurt for days over the ridiculous premise of this one. Julia Roberts plays a superstar actress fed up with all the paparazzi swarming her. She’s making a film in and around Notting Hill, in the West end of London, which is where Hugh Grant (playing the same daff everyman he almost always plays). Grant accidentally runs into Roberts on the street covering her with his beverage and he lets her clean up at his apartment (which is conveniently nearby) so she doesn’t have to deal with fans and cameras.
Somehow, Grant’s ordinariness makes Roberts fall madly in love with him and she shoves her tongue down his throat.
I feel that this is all I need to say about how pointless and nonsensical this film becomes. But, I’ll go on. Besides white-washing London’s west end (in reality a very ethnically diverse area) and my personal biases against Julia Roberts’ face (I swear, she looks like a horse), the film is, for the mot part fairly typical chick-flick fare. There’s a stereotypical wacky roommate (who is actually good for a few laughs), foreseeable conflict and foreseeable resolution. It’s pretty basic and up to par for paint-by-numbers cinema, except for the fact that the whole darn thing depends upon such an outlandish hookup.
It could have worked, because a movie star falling in love with a normal person is plausible and I’m sure it’s been done before. Something got very screwed up in the execution of this film though.
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