There is something disgusting about the way this film makes middle class life look really unbearable. All the fine wine, the Armani, the cool elegance of a tasteful existence - life just isn't worth living unless you've got money. We're told in Martin's pretentious and totally unnecessary narration that Mirabelle deserved to be singled out, to be noticed - So wonderful of the rich guy to give a helping hand to the lowly "shopgirl". Danes' Mirabelle is smart and capable but this film makes her the captive of two men - its one or the other. Her trip back to her American Gothic Vermont home shows her to be someone with very few options. I wanted to like this film, but after the second or third long and luxurious shot of Martin and his champagne zooming over the rest of us in his private jet I realized this film does think that money is the answer. How can we fault the goldiggers when regular life is so damn awful?
