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BaftaBaby 
"Always entranced by cinema."
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 Posted - 09/17/2012 : 23:11:31
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Meryl Streep. Tommy Lee Jones. Steve Carrell. What's not to like? Uhm - apart from those three, just about everything.
Though I will say it's very refreshing to see the female lead allowed to be presented as a portly frump. Because -- lissen up at the back, there - because, kids, real loving sex is not about Hollywood glamor.
But even those fine, experienced thesps can't save a plot that lost its way from soap-city. They try, oh, how they try, to rescue a script that telegraphs its lines as though it were sky-writing. All three, but especially Streep, dig deep - deep inside this drivel to pluck out some genuine emotion. Goodness knows they ain't helped by the in-yer-face soundtrack.
White, middle-class, 60-ish Streep and Jones have been marking time in their stale 30+ year marriage, so they visit Carrell's couple counseling. She's enthusiastic, holding on to a hope of recapturing the magic. He's surly and reluctant in case his towel slips to reveal an intimacy he's become ashamed and afraid of.
Between her flowered nighties and his droopy dick, there ain't a lot going on, no sir.
There's absolutely no tension. Nothing to up the ante of what's really at stake. It's the Reader's Digest version of Madame Bovary.
If the script hadn't been created by what appears to be Hallmark's new Greeting Card range - wrinkly rom com - bad taste hearts and flowers - well maybe we might care what happens to these just-folks.
As it is, it's all a big splash of white whine. And you just can't get those stains out of the carpet 
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Hope Springs
