97 minutes of my life I'll never get back.
Well, at least Spain looked sumptuous and Patricia Clarkson was great. I had a very hard time caring about any of the other characters, who were oh so sexy/tortured/complex in their relationships with each other....except, they weren't. Instead of plumbing the depths of the Mediterranean Sea, Woody Allen chooses to splash about in the wading pool at Parc Guell. So shallow. Sure everyone and everything looked beautiful, but who cares? Seriously... And when did the killer from No Country For Old Men become a lascivious painter? And when did ScarJo start resembling a pulchritudinous porcine person?
Whatever, I'm sure this'll get women wet and guys wetter, and will thusly be prescribed as the perfect Valentine's movie. "Reignite the passion in your life....(that was never there in the first place)" Perhaps I'm being too cynical, but films like this really bother me. They put on airs of being "adult comedies", but in truth they're no more "adult" than the emotionally stunted douches who inhabit the screen. Give me EuroTrip any day - at least it (and films of its ilk) don't try to pretend to be what they're not. I didn't think I'd ever say this, but, seriously Woody Allen.....grow up. I won't waste any more time on this film that already took so much from me, and gave nothing back.