We must have done something awful bad to deserve first the song and now the film. Wherever possible, stereotypes are substituted for three-dimensional characters, and clichés for dialogue. It's the story of a middle-aged woman married to an Italian-American family (a macho 'all I gave up when I got married was my motor-bike' husband, a father-in-law who gives out pieces of advice as if they were sweeties, and a mother-in-law who makes you feel guilty by cooking). She falls in love with an architect who has only caviar and yoghurt in his fridge. The blossoming of their illicit love (indicated by blazing log fires being superimposed when they kiss) and her inability to choose between her lovers threatens to destroy her marriage. Made for TV, the film's elevation to the big screen only heightens its inadequacies. It's not that it's bad, merely insipid, like a Martini on the rocks.
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