At a series of weddings, Hugh Grant keeps running into Andie MacDowell and sleeping with her. They clearly love each other, but never actually do anything else about it.
The romantic comedy is one of the basic genres. If sometimes it seems as if there's nothing new to say on the subject, or there's something creepy about the way the boy and girl torment each other, every once in a while one comes along to say something new on the subject, or at least crack new jokes.
Or say the same old thing, but simply and forthrightly. That's the thesis of this movie: love happens, it's real, and it can strike like a thunderbolt.
If you accept that, this movie makes perfect sense. Of course, once you've stated that, what is there to make a movie about? Well, there's always the mis-steps, and Richard Curtis' script turns comedy on its head. As we understand comedy, it's about timing, wit, and physical abuse. Grant exhibits what might be called "anti-timing" here: always late, always in the wrong place, unable to express himself, the one fall he takes clumsily faked. Compare that with Miss MacDowell, whose lines express her thoughts simply and elegantly. It's a comedy of embarrassment, and Grant plays it perfectly. Add in Curtis' usual assortment of oddballs and losers, and the little world of this film, where no one ever works and every weekend has another wedding where you'll run across exactly the same same people seems like eternal punishment.
What completes the excellence of this movie is the little documentary touches that director Mike Newell throws in. There's one brief shot at the funeral, of an old man opening his mouth to cry out in grief, never uttering a sound, as a heartbroken John Hannah recites Auden's "Funeral Blues" that feels very real to me. It's the little things like that which ground a movie, making the gags funnier. It's a rare perfect script, with great casting and beautiful direction. That's all right with me.
The romantic comedy is one of the basic genres. If sometimes it seems as if there's nothing new to say on the subject, or there's something creepy about the way the boy and girl torment each other, every once in a while one comes along to say something new on the subject, or at least crack new jokes.
Or say the same old thing, but simply and forthrightly. That's the thesis of this movie: love happens, it's real, and it can strike like a thunderbolt.
If you accept that, this movie makes perfect sense. Of course, once you've stated that, what is there to make a movie about? Well, there's always the mis-steps, and Richard Curtis' script turns comedy on its head. As we understand comedy, it's about timing, wit, and physical abuse. Grant exhibits what might be called "anti-timing" here: always late, always in the wrong place, unable to express himself, the one fall he takes clumsily faked. Compare that with Miss MacDowell, whose lines express her thoughts simply and elegantly. It's a comedy of embarrassment, and Grant plays it perfectly. Add in Curtis' usual assortment of oddballs and losers, and the little world of this film, where no one ever works and every weekend has another wedding where you'll run across exactly the same same people seems like eternal punishment.
What completes the excellence of this movie is the little documentary touches that director Mike Newell throws in. There's one brief shot at the funeral, of an old man opening his mouth to cry out in grief, never uttering a sound, as a heartbroken John Hannah recites Auden's "Funeral Blues" that feels very real to me. It's the little things like that which ground a movie, making the gags funnier. It's a rare perfect script, with great casting and beautiful direction. That's all right with me.