Not artsy, but very fartsy

Couldn't wait to see this film, mainly because of the cast (and Maggie Gyllenhaal in particular), although it seemed more than a tad trite from the previews. Alas and alack, the film is disasterously trite - truly one of the most superficial pieces of drek I've seen in ages. I cannot believe Julia Roberts had any control over producing this movie; surely she must have realized how banal the script was. And Mike Newell directs like he's shooting dead people - the film is completely devoid of any true passion, any revelation, any genuine connection between any of the characters.

At one point, Julia's character brings out a paint-by-numbers Van Gogh kit and tells her students how you cannot create art by the numbers. Ironically, this film attempts to do JUST THAT, by dragging out every single cliche in the the-wanna-be-feminists'-road-to-freedom book, and it's done with hardly any charm at all to make it easier to swallow. There is nothing new here, it all just drones on and on with the same lethally dead pace. In fact, Julia Roberts has done this film already: it was called "Flatliners."