[img]7|left|||no_popup[/img]According to the rom-com guide to romance, the surest way for a man to win the heart of a woman he doesn’t know he loves begins with acting like a jerk. Then, at the right moment, he can reveal the soft underbelly beneath his prickly exterior, thereby confirm that what women truly want is a bad boy who isn’t really so bad provided a womanly influence, intentional or not, draws out the domestic tendencies lurking deep inside. Poppycock.
The problem is that Matthew Goode’s Irish pub owner Declan is initially so unlikeable that even President Obama wouldn’t want to have a beer with him. Rude in a film where the Irish are, with few exceptions, presented as peculiarly inhospitable and lacking courtesy, who could be attracted to such a character other than a glutton for abuse and mockery? Fortunately, and I use the word with irony, scriptwriters Deborah Kaplan and Harry Elfont devise a solution in the form of a heroine who, though not rude or mean, is so uptight, fussy, and full of yuppie airs that until she mellows sympathy for her plight is hard to come by. In other words, the solution to one unlikeable character is a second unlikeable character. Nevertheless, no sooner can you invoke the questionable principle that opposite attracts, Declan and Anna from Boston are circling each other in a trajectory of inevitable romance where facades fade and hearts melt. Ah, the power of the Irish countryside so lovingly filmed by director Anand Tucker.
It’s not a triangle without a third corner, however. Enter Adam Scott as a cardiologist whose failure to satisfy Anna’s unvoiced expectations of a marriage proposal prompts the young woman to rush to Ireland to make use of a quaint tradition. This would be the topsy-turvy act of women proposing to men on the leap year day of Feb 29th. But don’t expect too much from this romantic little custom; it’s just a MacGuffin to give Anna a deadline to get herself to Dublin, arguing with Declan all the way, in time to meet with her cardiologist boyfriend while he’s attending a medical conference. Here the film strains to extract humour from disasters piled on top of Anna, whose fastidiousness and organizational skills would seem to moot this sort of thing. Leap Year, however, isn’t satisfied with forcing a rock to come together with a hard place; the film also contrives yet another smug takedown of wealthy urbanites by more authentic, free-living country folk. When the necessary happy coupling happens, the film’s proletarian sensibilities are revealed as thoroughly fake when the rug is pulled out from under Jeremy’s character. It’s a low blow, but by that point it’s hard to care one way or another about the clip-art characters, the telegraphed plot, or much of anything else.
The shame is that the thoroughly appealing Amy Adams, whose sweetness and severity suggests the next generation’s Nicole Kidman, deserves far better than this hackneyed material. There is a good news, however, for those wishing to see her in a smart, genuinely funny and romantic film: it’s never too late to rent Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day.
Entertainment: no stars
Craft: * (out of two)
Leap Year. Directed by Anand Tucker. Written by Deborah Kaplan and Harry Elfont. Starring Amy Adams, Matthew Goode, John Lithgow, and Adam Scott. 97 minutes. Rated PG (for sensuality and language).
Frédérik invites you to visit his blog, www.inkandashes.net.
