Pernicious tripe suitable only for masochists and the intellectually disabled, Sheree Folkson’s rom-com tracks the shenanigans endured by a romantically frustrated 30-year-old (the sternly beautiful Kelly Macdonald) as she reluctantly retreats to her dour, rainy island hometown up in the Hebrides only to find the spot of turf invaded by a paparazzi-plagued American movie goddess (Alice Eve) looking for a place to get privately married. Scottish codgers with babbling burrs clash with cynical Yank publicists, and Macdonald’s sad maiden gets embroiled in contrivance-choked ways that only begin with the titular gag. The supposedly frothy tone is tarry and flavorless, and the drill is painfully familiar: three bouncy-dumb song interludes in the first five minutes, comic chases and pratfalls in wedding dresses, constant and toxic doses of cute, a comeuppance for the vain and wealthy Americans, romance for the modest heroine (but only after swapping insults with ostensible groom-to-be David Tennant, which means he’ll be the lucky schmuck in the end). If you don’t bridle at the pandering, nothing bothers you.
This article from the Village Voice Archive was posted on March 7, 2012