Guilty Pleasures
by Katy Munger
Don't laugh. Even Tarts need a romantic comedy to indulge themselves in on occasion. And this one had to have been custom-written for its stars: Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant. They're that perfect in it. Julia plays Anna Scott, the world's most famous actress; Hugh plays a shy London bookstore owner who gets chewed up and spit out by the publicity machine that follows Anna everywhere.
What raises this movie above the Pablum otherwise foisted on an unsuspecting female public? Well, for one thing, ole Julia is the sexual aggressor (one, twice, three times a lady?) and for another, it's unexpectedly realistic. You actually start to feel sorry for the lucky bitch, and begin to wonder if your reading the tabloids each week doesn't make more people miserable than you previously thought. Meanwhile, Hugh, who has been horribly miscast in the past, is perfect as the man who seldom loses his heart -- but loses it completely when he does. Plus he has enough backbone to keep you rooting for him: his dialogue is wonderfully dry if you keep your ears open. His comment about Anna's foul temper is hilarious.
Finally, in the grand tradition of modern British movies trying to crack the U.S. market, there is a supporting cast of misfit friends that you grow to really appreciate and care about, both for their loyalty to the movie's hero as well as their own rather unique foibles. Can you imagine an incredibly romantic scene where a woman in a wheel chair is lifted from it by her husband and borne upstairs to bed? This movie pulls it off, with nary a whiff of PC about it.
Our recommendation: pull up a sofa, put on your fuzzy slippers, draw the curtains so your slutty reputation stays intact -- and enjoy! You'll be daydreaming about seducing bookstore owners for days afterwards.
More Guilty Pleasures from our reviewer Theda