I was sure glad I didn't pay to see this movie, because it was beyond doubt one of the slowest, most unclever attempts at an indie romantic comedy I've seen in a long while. The conceit at making a "mockumentary of the making of a mockumentary" failed to disguise the over-rehearsed, overly-melodramatic scenes between mom and daughter (who, big surprise, don't understand each other), ex-wife and Other Woman (oho, they have issues!) and former actress and schlub (naturally, they'll take to each other with time). The whole point of a mockumentary is to show things in a surprising way, and there were no surprises here, down to the final message that we already learned in "Freaky Friday" and "Pieces of April" (ie, "the kids are alright and we moms ain't bad either"). Aside from Shaloub, the actors fail to convince that they are something beyond ticketholders on the vanity-project train... Brooke Adams is particularly unlikeable as both a character and an actress in this film. What really got me, though, was the transposition of Hollywood youth-worship on Middle America; outside of Tinseltown, some women really do turn 50 looking 50, and they can accept it with the maturity their age has granted them. This movie lets us down because, like "Grease," it perpetuates the notion that all of a woman's relationship problems can be solved if she just fixes her makeup and puts on a push-up bra. The only redeeming quality in this film was Michael Wolfe's jazz piano, which unfortunately probably totals 90 seconds of the movie.
