Main cast: Hugh Grant (Michael Felgate), James Caan (Frank Vitale), Jeanne Tripplehorn (Gina Vitale), Burt Young (Vito Graziosi), James Fox (Philip Cromwell), Joe Viterelli (Vinnie D’Agostino), Gerry Becker (FBI Agent Bob Connell), Maddie Corman (Carol), Tony Darrow (Angelo), Paul Lazar (Ritchie Vitale), Vincent Pastore (Al), Frank Pellegrino (Sante), Scott Thompson (FBI Agent Lewis), John Ventimiglia (Johnny Graziosi), Margaret Devine (Helen), and Beatrice Winde (Mrs Horton)
Director: Kelly Makin

It’s official: Hugh Grant is probably suffering from an overdose of estrogen. He’s a bumbling twit in every one of his last three movies, an effeminate twit at that. If I want a British romantic hero, I’d take Jeremy Northam any day. Hugh Grant can go back to the sissy farm.

In this lame and lifeless romantic comedy, he plays a British auctioneer who marries his true love only to find himself ensnared in her mafiosi family’s activities. He finds himself auctioning paintings of Jesus killing everybody with a machine gun and others with names like Die Piggy Die Die Die as a front for money laundering activities. He tries to hide this from his wife (who made him swear not to get involved with her family), only to make things worse, thanks to his bumbling, eunuch ways. The idea of Hugh Grant as a Mafia wannabe is simply too godawful to contemplate.

There’s a sweet old lady, and James Caan and Joe Viterelli are hilarious. Jeanne Tripplehorn executes her role admirably too, but let’s face it, when an apologetic, wide-eyed, hand-wringing man is the lead actor, the movie is already one foot in the grave.

Even worse is that fact that laughs are few in-between, and as for whether there is great romance, why yes, if you consider the lead male actor’s self-absorbed posturing and gentility a romance.

File this under “milquetoast”.