Basking in Betty White's Adorableness

Because I will see literally anything with Betty White in it, I found myself at the cinema last night watching the Proposal. (Does that sentence sound ungrammatical? I don't care.) Here's the deal, kids. I don't like romantic comedies, usually, unless Preston Sturges, Ernst Lubitsch or Howard Hawks has a hand in them. The Wedding Singer is one of the few modern romcoms I enjoyed and that was like what, ten, fifteen years ago? Other than that, I think the only romcoms I like that *aren't* in black and white are Romancing the Stone and Overboard.

But sometimes I like Sandra Bullock -- I thought Miss Congeniality was charming -- and the premise of The Proposal is basically exactly how my marriage went down, so hey, I thought, it's a Friday night and I've had some Prosecco, let's go. Unfortunately, The Proposal, unlike my tasty Prosecco or the films of Ernst Lubitsch, does not sparkle.

First and foremost, I have to scold director Anne Fletcher: it's called pacing, honey. Pacing! You're a dancer, you should understand rhythm. Blimey!

Also, how 'bout extracting some humanity from Ryan Reynolds, huh? Was he cryogenically frozen or something? I don't think he's completely thawed out yet. Oh, and Malin Ackerman? Sorry you had absolutely nothing to do in this movie. And Coach, poor Coach (yes, the honorable Craig T. Nelson), what a dreary, pointless subplot they gave ya. The writer shares the blame for that labored attempt at depth, which added virtually nothing to the story or its characters.

Sandra Bullock works really hard with the material she's given, and has a couple of great scenes, as does Betty White, and one running gag with Oscar Nunez pays off nicely, but honestly? I'm not about to be converted anytime soon. RomComs, you're still at the bottom of the genre pile for me.