Edwards' muddled remake of one of Truffaut's less than happy movies involves a Hollywood lay-about sculptor (Reynolds) whose sack-count seems about par for the course in LA. Far from his obsession with women seeming strange, his psycho-babble accounts of womanising to his shrink (an unlikely Andrews) sound like no more than the usual Anna Raeburn phone-in whingeing. But while the movie desperately lacks humour, and the right touch, it yet manages to be very good-natured in an unmalicious sort of way. CPea.