Burns' follow-up to The Brothers McMullen is a disappointment. It's basically the same film, only longer, more expensive, and a whole lot more tiresome. This time, Burns plays Mickey, 'the only English-speaking white guy driving a cab in New York.' He's still hung up on Heather, a blonde dream who long ago turned into a nightmare. That is, until he picks up a fare, Hope (Bahns), and she picks up him. Meanwhile, McGlone (the religious McMullen) gets to be the philandering brother this time, Francis, an obnoxious yuppie who's cheating on wife Renee (Aniston) with - you guessed it - Heather. Confused? You won't be, as the film spells out every relationship in detail. The brothers Fitzpatrick lay the blame squarely on pop (Mahoney), but the writer/director is much too easy on them. His characters' blank incomprehension when it comes to the female of the species looks less like comic observation, more unalloyed chauvinism. This movie reeks of it like aftershave. Diaz's Heather is one of the most misogynistic femmes fatales this side of film noir. A bland, so-so romantic comedy without the charm to see it through.