That’s it. I’m divorcing Diane Lane—and every divorce-rebound flick that isn’t Shirley Valentine. As in the insultingly bland Under the Tuscan Sun, Lane struggles to recover from a broken marriage. This time, though, her character is helped by her lovably large Boston Irish family. Unfortunately, aside from the reliable Elizabeth Perkins, relegated to advising her prim sis on “boob shirts,” these yuppie siblings project all the warmth of models in a new picture frame. Worse yet, father Christopher Plummer declaims sparkle-eyed platitudes like an old Irish mariner scanning the horizon for sea fowl. Everybody’s worried about spinster Sarah (Lane), whose plight leads her to the Internet, the official black hole of film comedy. With a character this dull—so dull that we’re told over and over how smart and special she is—the resulting glut of date-ad losers seems like just deserts. Of course, dejected Sarah can’t hide forever sipping her tea in the bubble bath, and ends up ambivalently juggling the suave Dermot Mulroney and quirky,
Zhivago-obsessed (!) craftsman John Cusack. Guess who wins while I go file the separation papers.