Letters To Juliet (PG)

Reviewed,Anthony Quinn
Friday 11 June 2010 00:00 BST
Comments

Your support helps us to tell the story

From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.

At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.

The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.

Your support makes all the difference.

Woah. For unbridled cheesiness this really does take the biscotti. Amanda Seyfried stars as Sophie, a New Yorker fact-checker who goes on a pre-nuptial holiday to Verona and discovers the oh-so-charming tradition of heartfelt letters left by women in a courtyard wall, addressed to Shakespeare's Juliet.

(A fact-checker might have pointed out to the lovesick ladies that Juliet didn't actually exist). With her super-annoying chef boyfriend (Gael García Bernal) distracted by wine auctions, our heroine picks up the story of a letter written by an English girl named Claire in 1957 to an Italian sweetheart named Lorenzo; Sophie writes back to the girl, and on the next plane comes Claire herself (played by Vanessa Redgrave, at her most fey and floaty) in search of the man a full 50 years later. Oh, and she's escorted by her bumptious grandson (Christopher Egan) who seems to be the incarnation of Lord Snooty until it's revealed he's a pro bono lawyer and... are you still with me? This looks to be on the same level of supine Italophilia as Under The Tuscan Sun, but then ascends to a higher plane of fatuous girly fantasising altogether. The director Gary Winick, already responsible for Bride Wars, seems not to notice how dim-witted and precious the whole thing is.

Join our commenting forum

Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies

Comments

Thank you for registering

Please refresh the page or navigate to another page on the site to be automatically logged inPlease refresh your browser to be logged in