The Love Letter

Watching the opening few minutes of Roger Mitchell's Notting Hill is like reading somebody's megalomaniacal diary entries. It's a montage of magazine covers glorifying superstar Anna Scott (Julia Roberts), who, like the woman who portrays her, is the highest-paid and most-hyped actress in movies. She'd be insufferable if bumbling bookstore owner (what's with bookstore owners in romantic comedies these days -- is this Hollywood's notion of an exotic location?) William Thacker (Hugh Grant at his pasty, twitchy best) didn't have a crush on her, which he nobly suppresses when she wanders into his establishment in the flaky West London neighborhood of Notting Hill. Another dubious accidental encounter lands her in his squalid apartment, and despite the hackneyed premise and threadbare plotting, this confection captures some of the thrill of impossible love realized and the rarefied realms of fame brought to earth. Grant and Roberts have little chemistry, but they do banter well. And she brings a sinister edge to the sexually aggressive if confused Anna, whose whims cause the passive William to wilt. Such role reversal can't endure, but until Notting Hill ends curled up on the park bench of comfy conventions, it sticks closer to the eccentric environs of its title than to the inflated ego of its star. At the Harbour Mall, Showcase, Starcase, Tri-Boro, and Woonsocket cinemas.
-- Peter Keough