As soft and sweet as a marshmallow and about as interesting, Hitch is one of those romantic comedies that make the most of New York's recent transformation from a sleazy, hard-edged, interesting city into a mating ground for good-looking loft-dwellers with fascinating jobs.
Unlike other examples of the genre, this one was at least filmed almost entirely in the city (mainly in the fancy pseudo-bohemian enclaves of Lower Manhattan, with an excursion to Ellis Island thrown in for good measure), which should gratify residents and tourists tired of the Hollywood habit of commuting, from one scene to the next, between Midtown and Vancouver.
PHOTO: AP
In addition to savoring the neighborhood scenery and a few trendy gathering spots that have opened up since Sex and the City went off the air, audiences can enjoy the pleasant, easy company of Will Smith and Eva Mendes, two utterly charming screen performers pretending to tremble on the brink of love.
Mendes, whose slightly gap-toothed, dimpled smile will make short work of even those hearts resistant to her other lovely features, plays a newspaper gossip columnist named Sara Melas. As is customary in this kind of picture, Sara is determinedly single, offering a cynical shoulder and moral support to her obligatory insecure friend (Julie Ann Emery) even as Sara's kindly boss (Adam Arkin) worries that his star reporter is working too hard and letting her personal life languish. When she returns early from a vacation with a hot scoop, he pleads with her to take the rest of her allotted time off. This man edits a newspaper called The New York Standard, to which I'll fax my resume as soon as I'm off deadline.
Smith's character is Alex Hitchens, also known as Hitch, who makes a handsome living teaching awkward, nebbishy men how to seduce women who are much better looking than they are. A player-coach in the Manhattan dating game, Alex works behind the scenes to help his hapless clients put their best selves forward, schooling them in the finer points of dress and demeanor. In some ways, he is a discreet, heterosexual version of television's beloved Fab Five, though I guess calling the movie "Black Eye for the White Guy" would not have created quite the impression the filmmakers were aiming for.
The potentially sleazy implications of what Alex does are dispensed with quickly. Though he suffered an early heartbreak (related in a flashback that gives Smith a chance to act goofy as well as effortlessly suave), Alex bears no grudge against women and makes it very clear that his services are not available to cads or users. His own promiscuity is discreetly handled in a single scene (and it's all talk anyway), after which he settles down to the cautious pursuit of the equally cautious Sara.
Just to keep things moving along -- and to provide the necessary misunderstandings that will temporarily derail the central couple on their way to happiness -- there is a parallel plot involving one of Alex's clients, a tubby accountant (Kevin James) with his eye on a willowy heiress (Amber Valletta). James, best known for the sitcom The King of Queens, is a fine comic sidekick -- a shambling, flailing Jackie Gleason to keep Smith from getting too relaxed in his Rock Hudson/Dean Martin bachelor vibe.
The script, by Kevin Bisch, is rarely laugh-out-loud funny and tactfully avoids anything that might offend the audience by being too clever. The director, Andy Tennant (Sweet Home Alabama, Anna and the King), keeps things moving with perky smoothness. If you've seen How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days or The Wedding Planner, you pretty much know what you're in for -- an average romantic comedy put together with enough professionalism to keep your cynicism momentarily at bay, featuring good-looking actors who also, in this case, seem like pretty nice people.
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It’s hard to know where to begin with Mark Tovell’s Taiwan: Roads Above the Clouds. Having published a travelogue myself, as well as having contributed to several guidebooks, at first glance Tovell’s book appears to inhabit a middle ground — the kind of hard-to-sell nowheresville publishers detest. Leaf through the pages and you’ll find them suffuse with the purple prose best associated with travel literature: “When the sun is low on a warm, clear morning, and with the heat already rising, we stand at the riverside bike path leading south from Sanxia’s old cobble streets.” Hardly the stuff of your
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