Usually a movie has to be neither romantic nor funny to be a romantic comedy, and No Reservations certainly qualifies for that title. There's nothing funny about it, nor is anyone really all that charming and it fits one of the classic elements of the genre in that there's no indication on screen why these people are destined to be together except for cheesy music. So that was just terrible, and of course as in all film romances, somebody was about to jet off to another city unless they were arrested by some sort of heartfelt confessional. Sadly even the generally smart The Devil Wears Prada couldn't avoid that eyeroll and reconcile its lovers without a plane being involved.
But while mulling over whether I really wanted to trash it in some overwrought rant, I realized it's not the only peculiar romance between chefs with a cute little onlooker I've seen on film recently. In Ratatouille, I never got if there was a reason beyond the necessity of cliche for Colette and Linguini to be involved at the end of the film, with no real groundwork for it. Working together, maybe a spark as she's looking at him in a new light, but "Oh yeah and he's totally banging the French chick" seemed kind of like a silly thing to tack on to a movie about a cooking rat. On the other hand Remy the Rat is adorable, and between him and the transcendent moment of Peter O'Toole's creepy food critic, I found something genuinely likeable about about Ratatouille.
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