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After witnessing a murder, a feuding New York City power couple (Sarah Jessica Parker, Hugh Grant) get sent to a Western ranch for protection. Twenty minutes into Marc D. Lawrence’s shrill escapade, you’ll be wondering what you gotta do to get relocated away from this strenuously unfunny romantic comedy. Parker is all high-maintenance, uptight pointy angles (seriously, she looks like a Spandex-covered Popsicle stick), and Grant dithers. Each kicks up his or her trademark irritating mannerisms when they land in small-town Wyoming, where they discover that super-stores, guns and Americans are real. Or as real as Hollywood gets: In this town, everybody wears a cowboy hat, snap-button Western shirts and waits around 364 days for the — yee-haw! — annual town rodeo. See, this movie actually hates everybody — Blackberry-toting city slickers and truck-drivin’ country bumpkins alike. It’s a joyless exercise, bereft of laughs, romance or common sense. Trapped by a crime I didn’t commit, I rooted for the horrible whiny Morgans to be shot by the hitman, eaten by the bear, kicked by the bull or blasted full of buckshot by their rifle-toting hosts. Alas.
This article appears in Dec 24-30, 2009.
Buckshot isn’t a rifle round. There are no rifle rounds that contain buckshot. You mean “shotgun-toting.” It’s also not a “clip”, it’s a “magazine.” Just in case you make THAT mistake sometime in the future.