Music And Lyrics

Just when you think Hugh Grant is about to escape the inconsequential and rise glorious into the real world, he reverts to type. It’s quite depressing.

Alex Fletcher (Grant) was a star in the Eighties, as a member of the boy band Pop. Now, he’s hanging out in New York (?), picking up the occasional solo gig at an amusement park, or hotel, where older people congregate, and vaguely trying to write songs. Surprisingly, he is not suicidal. He’s too vain.

Although this is a diluted satire on old rockers, it is as edgy as frozen yoghurt. Instead of slamming the music biz and slapping down the phonies, it pays homage to the MTV-style, pop video inspired stadium shows by gently caressing their absurdities and having nubile half-dressed girls shake their booty like candy flags.

The rom-com hook is Sophie (Drew Barrymore), an ex-Eng Lit student, who helps out with potted plant maintenance in a half decent apartment block. Although a low grade hypochondriac and mini motormouth, she is the closest thing to normal in the entire film. You don’t learn much about her, except she had a fling at college with an older guy, a successful author (Campbell Scott), before discovering he had a fiancée. After the split, he wrote a best selling novel about their affair, which made her feel worse than worse. Also, she has a sister (Kristen Johnston), who is tall, fat and a Pop fan.

When she comes to do Alex’s flowers, he discovers she has a talent for lyric writing. She laughs it off and carries on killing the plants. He has been commissioned to write a song for Cora Corman (Haley Bennett), the hottest Top 100 chick of the moment, but he has to do it by the end of the week. He’s okay with melody, but useless at words. He persuades her to help him out and, of course, she’s a natural.

Telling the story is like pouring grease over the lawn. You can’t believe you’re doing it, because there isn’t a story, only a formula. Grant is somehow diminished as he shakes his hips and goes through the sex god routine on stage. It’s not that he’s too old, nor out of tune. It’s something else. Respect. Or lack of it. Which is unfair, because Alex prides himself on being a has-been.

The film is brought back from the dead by Barrymore. She has the instinctive ability to play comedy without pushing her luck, as if it is real and not a wet patch in writer/director Marc Lawrence’s mind. Sophie is kooky in a safe way, more absent-mindedly annoying than obviously eccentric. Although incapable of feeling good about herself, she is not a whingeing Wendy, demanding reassurances from any man who falls for her insecurities. She has – cue music – heart. And by the end you love her for it.

Note to Hugh: you are a good actor. Don’t take the money and sleepwalk through self-deprecating drivel like this. Charm has a shelf life.