As soon as Cynthia Nixon's character spies the naked Brat (Timothy Oliphant) sleeping in her gay friend's bed and her eyes betray her interest, we know that they will be together by the end of the film. That's the way movie cliches work. Missy (Nixon) a pop-fad artist, who has an amazing success showing home movies of her childhood with narration, is having an affair with a married man whose character is given in the credits as "Suit" (Jon Tenny). If there is humour in this film, I missed it. Obviously the final confrontation scene in the diner with a commenting chorus of patrons is meant to be a hoot. But it's too far-fetched and contrived even for this film. And one can't really have a "Romance" if one doesn't care about the characters involved in said romance. But I think there is a greater problem with this film. Let me explain. If films continued to depict Afro-Americans as toadying Uncle Toms, I am certain that here would be vehement cries of anger and protest. Yet this film dares to portray a gay man as the swishy, queenly creature that bigoted Americans think all gays are. Worse than that, it tells us that any bi-sexual man can be "cured" by the love of a good woman. Yet even accepting this preposterous and insulting thesis, it is inconceivable that Timothy Oliphant's character would have Andy Dick's homely, effeminate character as a regular sex-partner and/or fall in love with the irritating creature played by Cynthia Nixon. This film not only angered me. It was an insult to my intelligence.