Who's in It: Diane Keaton, Mandy Moore, Lauren Graham, Piper Perabo, Stephen Collins, Gabriel Macht, Tom Everett Scott
The Basics: Remember the good old days when chick flicks were safe and comfortable and boring? So do the people who made this movie about an annoying, clutzy, pre-orgasmic 59-year-old woman who meddles in the lives of her three long-suffering daughters. It takes no risks on any level, is practically a 100-minute commercial for Restoration Hardware and will satisfy your chamomile-steeped jones for rich, pretty white people and their plush little romantic troubles. It's dumbly inoffensive, unless you're offended by things that induce napping. See there? I knew you couldn't take a "con" position on napping. No one can.
What's the Deal? I kind of felt sorry for Keaton while watching this. Not because she's in it, because that's a paycheck, and a paycheck means the ability to pay property taxes and retire comfortably and buy cool art from fancy-pants galleries. I felt sorry for her because she seems really unhappy with her neck. In every scene, she's wearing a scarf or a choker or a lot of necklace-y stuff or a high-collared shirt. It's very weird to witness this. I sat there thinking, Well, yeah, you're old and whatever, so your neck's going to be wrinkly. Deal with it. Susan Sarandon doesn't go around all bundled up like she's got the Taliban on her tail, does she? No, she does not.
How You Know the Movie Itself Isn't Holding Your Full Attention: The characters are caterers, and they seem to do a brisk business in extravagantly decorated cakes (though you never see anyone actually assisting in the making of them). But the fondant-coated, on-camera treats seem to exist for no other reason than for Keaton to drop them, fall into them or have her face smashed into them, all so that we, the audience, won't stop and begin questioning the dopey movie's plot. Because it's one of those scripts that are full of people who could solve all their problems in about five minutes if they'd just have a conversation or two. Anyway, you're watching Keaton with cake on her face, and you know that they're just going to come hose her off or however they clean up these people after the director yells "Cut!" and all you can think about is how it's such a waste of delicious cake and wouldn't some cake be good right about now. With a big glass of ice-cold milk. And then you daydream about cake for a few minutes and lose what's happening in the movie. It's like that.
Other Stuff That Bugged Me: Macht's dumb hand tattoo and porkpie hats, the dad from 7th Heaven mounting Keaton in one scene and the irritating child actor who plays Macht's kid who shouts every line of dialogue he has.