Heartwarming, gilded chopped liver

Rating: Null/10 (6 June 1999)

Consider for a moment "Roman Holiday," one of "Notting Hill's" obvious ancestors. On the surface, "Roman Holiday" is the story of two beautiful and charming people who fall head over heels for each other. But in the end it is just as much about duty, sacrifice and honor -- something we mortals could/should relate to. Now think of "Four Weddings," an even more obvious antecedent: While it spends plenty of time doting on beauty and charm, "Four Weddings" is also about the transcendent power of love and commitment. Again, things that should concern us regular guys.
Whatever it may pretend to, "Notting Hill" is essentially about beauty, charm, and how hard it is to be Julia Roberts.
The slings and arrows of uber-movie-star fame. Okay, not necessarily a subject without interest. But if a movie is going to spotlight this sort of thing, it had better get the details right. So consider this: After spending a blissful night together, our beautiful and charming couple is ambushed by the press (utterly unconvincingly), ensuring that the Grant character -- as the presumed lover of the world's most famous woman -- will have his face and boxer shorts plastered on the cover of every tabloid and Peoplish magazine in the world. And what effect does this exposure have on his life? Absolutely none, apparently. Not one detail of the impact of his fifteen minutes of fame is noted. And for an unconscionably long time he's not even recognized by any of the press vultures when he makes his startling appearance at the Roberts character's Savoy Hotel press conference. Yeah, sure.
The movie tries much too hard to Xerox the "Four Weddings" winsomeness, again providing Grant with a posse of fetchingly bright and eccentric friends. But they're nowhere nearly as appealing as the earlier crew. I guarantee you that, after spending five minutes in the company of Grant's "zany" flatmate, you'll want to slit his jugular. And I won't abuse you with my thoughts about the woman who plays Grant's sister.
Almost nothing in the film is subtle. Just about every potentially interesting plot twist is telegraphed by the Grant character's congenital inability to keep his mouth shut. One example: Roberts is asleep, chastely, in the upstairs bedroom. Grant is lying on the sofa bed, hears approaching footsteps, gets all goggle-eyed, and says "Oh My God." Is there any way on earth the footsteps aren't going to belong to his flatmate? And when moments later he says "Sod off," is there any way it's not going to be to Julia? That sort of thing went (or should have gone) out with Clara Bow.
The soundtrack? Painfully, ludicrously, insultingly obvious. The producers should die of shame.
And yet... Julia Roberts is -- how else to put it? -- dazzling. Adorable. Flat out radiant. And whenever Grant -- no slouch himself in the gleaming glamourpuss department -- gazes adoringly at her, the sound you hear is the South Pole melting.
So, yes, I'm glad I saw it. It made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I just wish I'd left my brain at home.