Letters to Juliet

The couple in this feather-light romance aren’t so much star-crossed as sun-kissed. With their golden hair and perfect, glowing skin, Seyfried and Egan look as if they’ve been carved out of solidified honey. Unfortunately, their characters have about as much complexity as honey. Sophie (Seyfried) is a copy editor at The New Yorker whose restaurateur fiancé Victor (Bernal) spends their pre-wedding trip to Italy at wine auctions and in kitchens. She takes the time to visit the Veronese women who answer letters left at the supposed home of Shakespeare’s Juliet Capulet. Sophie answers a 50-year-old note found in a crack in the wall, and before you can say “That’s amore,” the elderly Claire (Redgrave) shows up with her snotty but pretty grandson Charlie (Egan) in tow, hellbent on finding the man she left behind in Italy half a century ago. Sophie tags along on the quest, and her antipathy for Charlie soon turns to…well, we won’t spoil it, because surely you have no idea what will happen.

The script is so baldly ridiculous it almost dares you to laugh, particularly at the cartoonish upper-crust prig that Charlie must be in the first half in order to delay the inevitable snogging. Seyfried isn’t given much better to work with; her character note seems to have been “look pretty,” which she does quite well. Redgrave, on the other hand, throws way too much acting firepower at her role, delivering her lines in a breathy cadence full of pauses meant to convey a lifetime of experience. Those vocal tricks probably wow them in the West End.

On the plus side, the Italian countryside looks lovely (even more golden than the leads!), and at least the film doesn’t stoop to the broad comedy of most romcoms of late—well, at least it doesn’t stoop too often. As travelogue romances go, you could do worse. And, hey, at least this romance doesn’t end in a double suicide.

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