If only the clever foreshadowing of this story as Greek tragedy hadn't been so subtle and instead had yelled "GET OUT NOW WHILE YOU CAN STILL CATCH THAT NEW WOODY ALLEN COMEDY IN THE THEATRE NEXT DOOR!". The things we endure for love.
If you're feeling a little morose, this film needs to come with a health warning. And a melodramatic-use-of-orchestral-string warning too.
The cinematography and scenery however is beautiful. Except when it pixelates due to the shitty digital screening…
"He can be the 'Lawrence' of my labia". And that was the 'best' joke.
Carrie's character should have broken her Manolo-clad ankle and been run over by a yellow cab to save us all the bother. I'm sure Big would have been much happier too.
Gratuitous haute couture couldn't even save this movie, but I'll give it a sympathy star for trying.