Dustin Hoffman as Emma Thompson’s father I could stomach. As her love interest? Where’s the barf bag? I felt like a flick the other day so I stopped at the Red Box just inside the entrance to our friendly neighborhood Wal-Mart. I’m not a snob, but I have little interest in B movies that bombed at the box office. Unfortunately, when you’re standing in front of the Red Box, you cannot access any critical reviews, just the promotional blurb. Categorized as a Romance, Last Chance Harvey was described like this, “In London for his daughter's wedding, a rumpled man finds his romantic spirits lifted by a new woman in his life. Rated PG-13 by the Motion Picture Association of America for brief strong language.” Not much to go on.
When I got home, my wife seemed to recall she had heard good things about it and a subsequent check with AtTheMovies.com indeed revealed that both Bens, Lyons and Mankiewicz, recommended it, Mank calling it “a really sweet and tender movie.”
For critics, these guys are too easily entertained. This slow paced, plotless, romp to boredom did nothing for me except make me groan in agony. The idea of Harvey and Kate getting together is, for me, as sick as great granddad fondling little girls in the park.
Of course, joining Lyons and Mankiewicz was my wife. She, too, thought the movie was sweet. Could be I’ve suddenly become immune to “sweet.” After all, I am a diabetic.
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