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I think it was English novelist William Thackeray, writer of Vanity Fair (the 1847 book, not the checkout-line rag), who said it best: "You know what happens to mortals who get involved with the gods? Buggered. Every time."
No, wait, that was William Thacker, Hugh Grant's character in the new romantic comedy Notting Hill, starring him and Julia Roberts. Better strike that too -- it should probably read, starring Julia Roberts and him, since she reportedly got $15 million, about twice his paycheck, also reportedly leading to no small amount of tension on the set. So did Universal, who prior to The Mummy was lately in serious financial straits, get their money's worth, or will we see Julia swaddled in gauze for Mummy 2: Lips of Evil? Well, before it was released, Notting Hill got the highest test audience ratings ever for a romantic comedy -- god knows the people in New York and Los Angeles are worlds smarter than we are out here in the tiles. And in its first weekend it set a boxoffice record for such films, eclipsing The Wedding Singer, so J.R.'s probably off the hook.
She plays Anna Scott, a movie star who's not only as famous as her real-world self, but has even won a Best Actress Oscar. One day while in London promoting her latest film she wanders incognito under hat and sunglasses into Thacker's wildly underachieving little shop for travel books, situated in the titular neighborhood. Struck by his frumpy charm and polite refusal to go ga-ga upon recognizing her -- and his gracious provision of a place to change after accidentally soaking her with orange juice -- she hangs out with him for the duration of her brief stay. But their easygoing romance is just getting started when, oops, her famous American actor boyfriend shows up (Alex Baldwin in an unbilled cameo), and she disappears back to the movies, leaving him to wander around heartbroken and see her picture plastered on every bus in the city. But, surprise, she returns in a few weeks, unattached and looking for a place to hide from the paparazzi when the tabloids publish some old nude "art" photos of her just as she's getting into town. This time fortress mentality helps spark some serious passion, only to get interrupted again when the press hordes, indirectly tipped off by William's unwitting, fuzzy-toothed Welsh roommate Spike, materialize en masse at the front door. She goes all huffy and disappears again, leaving Thacker feeling like someone's served him his heart on a fondue fork. But that would make a real downer ending, so…
Directed by Roger Michell, who filmed a well-received treatment of Jane Austen's Persuasion, and written by Richard Curtis, who scripted Grant's breakthrough hit Four Weddings and a Funeral, Notting Hill is a romantic comedy that succeeds more on the first count than the latter. While some of the humour is rather belabored - a sequence in which William masquerades as a reporter to sneak into a press junket goes on about ten minutes too long, and although Rhys Ifans is getting some very good reviews as the impossibly slovenly Spike, a little of his character goes a long, long way - it's actually refreshingly sweet when depicting this apparently hopeless love story. Roberts is surprisingly sympathetic essentially portraying herself, a global idol whose fame and fortune may not be worth the personal costs she's paid. And lesser-remunerated Grant is good doing a more disheveled, less fastidious character than his usual, a regular guye who poors his heart out in statements such as, "It's as if I've taken love heroin and can never have her again." The birthday party that introduces Anna to William's unsuspecting circle of friends (played by a sparkling, believably odd, well-cast bunch of BBC-TV actors, including Tim McInnerney as best friend Max, whom fans of Rowan Atkinson's hilarious "Black Adder" series will recognize as Lord Percy Percy) may go into the annals of film lore as one of the best dinner scenes ever, scoring more gentle sincerity than belly laughs. Don't get me started about the maudlin sound track though, which despite featuring an emotional Al Green cover of the Bee Gees' pre-disco hit "How Can You Mend a Broken Heart" also inflicts a couple useless songs by a Meat Loaf soundalike. It also has the nerve, in an otherwise nifty montage that shows three seasons pass in a single lonely walk down William's street, to almost comically dump rain on him the instant Bill Withers' "Ain't No Sunshine" issues from the speakers. I hate to think what might have happened had they used Carol King's "I Feel the Earth Move."
And there may be some unintended snickers when this movie shows in Great Britain, where "knotting," like "shagging," is slang for doin' the Posturepedic Cha-Cha. Ah, such is the price of art. B
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