Jennifer Garner's fiancé is killed in an accident just before their wedding in idyllic Boulder, Colorado. He was an outdoorsy dude who ran a fly-fishing shop with one of his three pals (Sam Jaeger), who lived with a boozy, Zennish herbal tea peddler (Kevin Smith); the last of the gang, Timothy Olyphant, embodies the most shallow and lascivious of his current home, Malibu. He's the one who mourns by boinking a caterer in the upstairs bathroom after the funeral.
After their six-year relationship ends as it did, Garner is sympathetically devastated ...for a while. Then this faint echo of The Big Chill disintegrates into soapy nonsense. Her late almost-hubby fathered a child in California he'd never mentioned, while sending monthly checks from a large account she never knew was part of the package. One pal 'fesses up to the huge crush he's always harbored for Garner, silently agonizing over her naive devotion to an undeserving philanderer. The "other woman" (Juliette Lewis, riffing as a sexy, New Agey flake with no apparent effort) and their kid show up. Things get worse, as Garner learns more about the timing and other details of his secret life. She finds solace and more from an unlikely source - all in about the same time it takes for rigor mortis to set in on the stiff who stiffed her.
The more the cast members talk and act, the more alienating they become. Within an hour - if not sooner - the generally engaging Garner and her circle grow tiresome, or worse. Smith, who's mainly there for comic relief, is the least annoying of the lot. But he's just circling the margins, playing it like Jack Black on Prozac. Nothing that happens makes sense, or justifies ongoing empathy with the characters. The splendor of Colorado's pastoral summer scenery is polluted by the plot. If the EPA had required an Environmental Impact study, they might have stopped the production. Another casualty of governmental cutbacks and overworked agencies.
After their six-year relationship ends as it did, Garner is sympathetically devastated ...for a while. Then this faint echo of The Big Chill disintegrates into soapy nonsense. Her late almost-hubby fathered a child in California he'd never mentioned, while sending monthly checks from a large account she never knew was part of the package. One pal 'fesses up to the huge crush he's always harbored for Garner, silently agonizing over her naive devotion to an undeserving philanderer. The "other woman" (Juliette Lewis, riffing as a sexy, New Agey flake with no apparent effort) and their kid show up. Things get worse, as Garner learns more about the timing and other details of his secret life. She finds solace and more from an unlikely source - all in about the same time it takes for rigor mortis to set in on the stiff who stiffed her.
The more the cast members talk and act, the more alienating they become. Within an hour - if not sooner - the generally engaging Garner and her circle grow tiresome, or worse. Smith, who's mainly there for comic relief, is the least annoying of the lot. But he's just circling the margins, playing it like Jack Black on Prozac. Nothing that happens makes sense, or justifies ongoing empathy with the characters. The splendor of Colorado's pastoral summer scenery is polluted by the plot. If the EPA had required an Environmental Impact study, they might have stopped the production. Another casualty of governmental cutbacks and overworked agencies.