Heart-on-sleeve comedy from James L. Brooks, told in the form of an admissions essay to Princeton University, a document that must, by the end, have stretched to 60, 000 words. It has, in the pattern of a Well-Made Sitcom if not a 19th-century Realist Novel, a set of characters and relationships in a socially "relevant" milieu: a master chef fearful of the effect of a four-star review on his cozy little neighborhood restaurant; his high-strung, motormouthed, hardbodied wife, who requires domestic help now that she has been downsized into a full-time mom and part-time adulteress; her bibulous live-in mother, a former jazz singer; an adolescent daughter with a weight problem less burdensome than her mother's jabbing reminders of it; a younger brother who you often forget is in the movie; and a beautiful Mexican housekeeper who knows no English and has a beautiful preadolescent daughter of her own. Naturally, Brooks being Brooks, there are occasional scraps of observation and sensitivity: e.g., the maid's inability to express her indignation in language when the lady of the house appropriates the other's daughter. Yet the entire project looks to have been sabotaged in the casting. Adam Sandler remains a highly mannered actor even when he attempts to tone down his shtick; and his standard recipe of juvenile awkwardness and bashfulness, with a dash of infantile temper, seems rather unattractive in "the best chef in the United States." Téa Leoni, as the wife, is portraying so unattractive a personality to begin with, it's both unfair and unwise to allow her also to be less attractive physically than her unimpeachable maid and romantic rival, Paz Vega, who appears ready to steal a few roles from Penelope Cruz. In the result, what's supposed to be a bittersweet ending tastes strictly bitter. Cloris Leachman, Sarah Steele, Shelbie Bruce. (2004) — Duncan Shepherd
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